Pendulum
by Schildkroete
Summary: Sequel to Before Sunset. Having failed the save the Doctor so far, the Master comes to Cardiff to look for help he'd rather do without. Finished.
1. Chapter 1

With a heavy sigh Jack leaned back in his chair and re-filled his glass with water. He drank half of it before going back to what he'd been doing all evening: wasting time.

Right now he was supposed to do paper work. There were three reports to be written and five to be read. So far all he had done was surfing through the internet for stuff that was interesting, if not at all useful.

In between he had started writing the reports: He had opened a file on Word and had every intention of filling it with a professional description of how they had lost their SUV to a sky-blue t-rex from another planet. Eventually. After he had clicked on that link there…

Somehow he was lacking motivation today.

He glanced at the clock. Make it 'tonight' then.

When he'd decided to become a hero he no one had warned him of the paperwork. Naturally. If they did, there wouldn't be heroes. Nowhere. Ever.

The Doctor never had to write reports. If he saw a bill he'd fold it into a paper crane.

He was quite good at that.

The thought reminded Jack that he had been able to fold paper cranes himself, once. He'd learned it in Japan, about forty years ago, and now he took a piece of paper from his printer (a piece that should have been filled with the his first report by now), cut away the extra length that kept it from being square and decided to find out if he still remembered how to do it.

He didn't.

It wouldn't leave him alone. Google helped him find a website that refreshed his rusty memory. Once he got this right he would start typing.

He folded his first crane in four decades, then he took another paper and folded a second one, just to make sure he remembered how to. Also, the first one looked really crappy.

Finally satisfied he clicked on the empty Word file and positioned his fingers on the keyboard, reminding himself that he should write a few hundred words before he did anything else. Staring at the screen he tried to think of the crucial first words.

Hadn't he been able to fold paper boxes, once?

A noise outside his office offered unneeded but welcome distraction. Another glance at the clock made Jack frown though – if he ruled out that the weevils had gotten out of their cells and were now having a tea-party with Myfanwy (and something like that could never be ruled out completely) he had to assume that at least one member of his team was suffering from insomnia.

For that a number of explanations were possible: Either the world was ending and he had so far failed to notice, or Gwen had had a fight with Rhys and needed a shoulder to cry on, or Ianto thought Jack might get lonely here and decided to keep him company. Of all those options Jack favoured the last one – although watching a number of alien monsters having tea with a pterodactyl would well be worth another night without sex.

After half a minute had passed without anyone knocking on his door Jack left his desk to have a look, his weapon loosely in hand. He didn't want to be surprised by anything nasty, nor did he want to risk shooting one of his friends by accident.

The hub was empty. No weevils, no team, even Myfanwy was nowhere in sight. His face darkening and much more alert Jack looked everywhere, from the autopsy room to the kitchen, and found nothing. Checking the surveillance tapes told him he was all alone.

Maybe he'd imagined it.

Still weary Jack returned to his office. The seat behind his desk was taken, by a man who steepled his fingers in front of is face as if trying to imitate every clichéd villain there ever was and was not in the least impressed by the gun Jack pointed at his face. He had little hope the guy had snuck inside to do this paperwork.

"Who are you?" he asked. "How did you get in here?"

The stranger smiled without humour.

-

"You're going to come with me, Captain," the man said; a statement. "You're assistance, unfortunate as it is, is requited."

"As I am the one with the gun, you'd better tell me why I should do that," replied Jack, hoping he wouldn't hit the computer if he had to fire. Then again, it would be a convenient excuse for being report-less in the morning. "You'll forgive me my inhospitality, but to my experience people entering the hub without permission are seldom our friends. So you have five seconds to answer my questions."

The stranger chuckled.

"Dear old Jack," he mused. "Still acting like the big, hard man from the tv-shows."

"Three seconds," Jack answered, wondering how this guy might know him. He'd definitely never seen him before.

The man was black-haired and of similar height and build as Jack. His face was narrower though, and covered in a carefully trimmed beard. In his neat, black suit he looked like a villain from a James Bond movie.

So it was only appropriate that Jack had the licence to kill him.

"It's in your own interest to assist me," the man said.

"Is it?" A thought stuck Jack, causing his expression to darken further. "You're threatening my team!"

The other grimaced. "Why waste time like that if I have something much better than your team to convince you?"

"Which would be?" Jack's suspicion grew. His team was his weakness, the thing that made him vulnerable. If this man didn't use his desire to protect them against him there were only very few alternatives. His brother was one of them, another something from Jack's past – or even his past itself, the years he'd forgotten.

"The Doctor," said the stranger. Jack breathed in sharply.

"What have you done to him, bastard?"

The reply he got was unexpectedly harsh. "I did nothing! I need you to save him, fool! He's dying."

Jack swallowed. He didn't lower his weapon – this could be a trick.

He hoped it was a trick.

"I don't believe you."

The other looked at him, his stare cold and arrogant. "How certain are you, that I'm lying?" he asked. "Can you really risk killing me? Just because I came in without knocking?"

Jack's finger was still on the trigger, but he already knew he couldn't do it. And judging from the other's calm stare he knew it as well.

Jack lowered the weapon at least. His arm was beginning to get heavy anyway.

"Can you prove it? Where is the Doctor now?"

Instead of answering, the stranger turned the screen of Jack's computer around for him to see. It showed the pictures received from the surveillance camera beside the fountain above them, and there, standing in its usual spot, was the TARDIS.

Jack fought down the urge to just run there. He pointed the gun at the other man once more.

"Lead the way," he ordered. "I don't want you in my back."

Even as he moved the stranger snorted. "Why so mistrusting, Jack? I am a friend of the Doctor. I came here to help him. We're on the same side."

He was right – apart from him getting into the hub without warning Jack had no reason to think him an enemy. But no one should be able to get into the hub without ringing the alarm or being on the surveillance tapes. No one should be able to get into the hub at all. And there was something about him that made Jack dislike him despite his attractive features. It was more than just his arrogance. Jack felt like he knew him, and that made him nervous. Especially since he felt like knowing this man hadn't been particularly pleasant. He couldn't base this feeling on anything, though. There was just this dislike when he looked at him, and a vague urge to shoot him.

Although the cause could also be his hurt ego, due to having their security fooled so easily, mingled with worry for the Doctor. Dying, the man had said.

"There's no need to hurry," the same man said now, when Jack poked the gun in his back in an attempt to make him move faster. "He's not in immediate danger."

"Who are you?" Jack asked again, determined to get an answer this time. "How do you know me?"

"You don't remember?" the stranger asked in fake surprise. "I'm hurt! Hurt and shocked, Jack. We were so close once!" He glanced back over his shoulder. "Or should I call you Bill?"

"'Bill'?" Jack frowned. "I never called myself Bill."

"You did. You called yourself many things. One of them being 'Fred', but the Doctor wouldn't have that."

Now Jack nearly froze. He'd used the name Fred a few times during his time in the agency – a private joke between him and a long dead lover.

"How do you know that?" They had reached the lift going up – not for the first time Jack cursed it for being so slow.

The stranger snorted. "Like I said, we've met. I suppose you really don't remember, but you and me, we were lovers once."

"Oh, please!"

"It's too bad you've forgotten," the bearded man mused. "The sex was fantastic. I'm sure it's a memory you would have liked to keep."

There were quite a few memories Jack would have liked to keep. Two years of memories.

Suddenly the barrel of his gun was underneath the other's chin.

"Do you have anything to do with the agency taking my memories?" Jack hissed. The stranger simply took a step aside.

"No. Our ways parted before any memory-stealing happened."

"Right. Now explain to me how we met. Was the Doctor there as well? If so, why has he never mentioned anything?"

"Because it has only just happened to us. The last time I saw you weren't that long ago – you were a time agent, we were time travellers, one thing led to another."

"To us having sex?" The sceptical tone wasn't justified. Sex was a natural outcome to many things Jack did.

The man merely shrugged. The lift had almost reached the top and Jack decided that 'the man' needed a name.

"Harry," he introduced himself when asked, with a smirk as if this was a joke Jack didn't get. He didn't like the name anyway, was reminded of a certain Harry Saxon, but accepted it for the moment. What he did not accept as easily was the story 'Harry' was trying to sell him. He believed him when he said they'd met before, but there was definitely more to it than that.

"I'm having a hard time believing you we've been friends," he admitted.

"I never said anything about friendship. But we were sexually engaged, and there were no weapons involved in that." Harry fished for something in the pockets of his suit. "Since I anticipated your unwillingness to believe me I had this printed out."

He gave Jack a folded piece of paper. Jack took it and unfolded it with one hand, never lowering his gun.

The paper showed a picture, judging from the angle a still from a surveillance camera. It showed two naked people on a couch. Jack recognized Harry immediately. Recognizing the other man as himself, a few years younger, took a moment even though he'd known what to expect.

It proved nothing – pictures could be faked. Still, for now it looked real enough, and Jack having had sex with Harry didn't mean he had trusted him then.

What surprised him most was the room they were in. Jack recognized it.

"The Doctor let us shag in his TARDIS?" he asked with a frown. "Are you kidding me?"

"We didn't ask and he didn't mind when he found out." Now Harry sounded a little sour as if he wasn't really happy about – what? The Doctor not minding?

Whatever it was, it convinced Jack more that he was speaking the truth than the picture had.

Jack hadn't even known there were cameras in the TARDIS.

"And the Doctor?" he asked as he followed Harry through the rainy twilight to the blue box. "How exactly are you connected to him?" Somehow this man didn't seem like the sort the Time Lord usually took along on his journeys.

Harry opened the door and they entered a TARDIS that seemed darker than unusually somehow. Almost lifeless. Jack shuddered not only because of the low temperature. For the first time he was truly able to accept that Harry might have spoken the truth when he said that the Doctor was dying.

"What's wrong with him?" he whispered. "What happened?"

Harry kept walking, straight over to the door leading to the main corridor.

"Come," he said. "I'll show you."

-

The corridor appeared longer than usual, with fewer doors to the sides, and Jack was missing the staircases. It seemed as though the ship was reduced to a minimum, but then this damn way wouldn't have been so endless. Jack felt like he'd been following Harry for hours.

He was worried.

The TARDIS changing on the inside wasn't unusual, but somehow this felt wrong.

"Where are all the corridors crossing this one?" he asked, the cold emptiness making him nervous. "The stairs? Where's the damn kitchen?"

Harry didn't turn around.

"They were still here when I left. Maybe the ship doesn't like you."

It reminded the immortal of the way the TARDIS had reacted when he'd clung to her from the outside. Perhaps Harry was right. The thought was followed by doubt that he was the right person to help the Doctor. He was 'wrong', after all. What if he made it worse?

He voiced his doubts to Harry. Harry shrugged.

"It doesn't matter."

Just like the console room the corridor was darker than Jack remembered, barren. It ran straight ahead, seeming to go nowhere. Changed as it was Jack had no orientation, no way of telling where they were. Had he been asked to find his old room now he wouldn't have been able to do so.

Still he expected the walk to end in the infirmary, or the Doctor's bedroom at best. He expected to find his friend weak and injured on a bed, either sleeping or awake and in pain (and maybe shying from his presence). So he was surprised and confused when Harry pushed open a door – and how he knew it was this one and not the next, that looked exactly the same he would never know – and Jack found himself entering a small room he had never seen before.

Unlike most rooms in the TARDIS there was a carpet on the floor and the walls were made of wood. None of those walls was even close to the outside, yet opposite the door a window allowed bright, warm sunlight to fall into the centre of the room. It got reflected by something that looked like a coffin made of glass, standing on a table made of wires and buttons.

Jack didn't see Harry grimace as they stepped inside.

"All this, but you didn't even manage to light the corridor properly, you stupid machine," he grumbled, but Jack didn't hear him. His eyes were on the glass casket, and his feet brought him closer without a single thought forming in his head.

The table was about two and a half metres in length and one metre wide. The casket on top of it was almost as long, and half as wide. Wires and tubes connecting it to the table had little success in making it seem less like a coffin.

The floor of the casket was padded by a narrow mattress. On the soft material lay the Doctor, pale and still. A thin white sheet covered him from the waist down, apart from that he appeared to be naked but for the bandage wrapped firmly around his chest.

The reflections of the sunlight on the lid made it hard to make out more until Jack sank to his knees beside the construction, looking into the casket from the side. The Doctor's face was entirely without colour, his cheeks sunken in, his lips slightly parted and split. Dark bruises marred his pale skin, on his shoulders, his neck, his wrists. As Jack, speechless, stared at his friend's drawn face he noticed traces of tears on his cheeks.

"What happened?" he whispered – his breath left a white spot on the glass before him that quickly disappeared.

The bandage around the Doctor's chest indicated an injury, but Jack at once saw that it was more than that. The Time Lord was thinner than he had been ever before, and on the bare skin of his arm Jack discovered marks left by needles, some of them faded and old. He looked ill.

Beneath the bandage his thin chest didn't rise.

Jack's hand was caught the moment it touched the lid.

"Don't open it," Harry warned.

"He's not breathing!"

"Yes. Leave him alone."

Jack took a deep breath, as if for both of them. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, sinking down to his knees again. "And what is this thing he's lying in?"

"This thing keeps him alive," Harry explained. "Inside he's suspended in time. That's why he's not breathing. Outside the machine he would die within days. Maybe hours."

Jack pressed his fingertips against the glass. "Why?"

"Because he's too weak to live. Because he's ill and stubborn and a stupid little idiot!" The bitterness in Harry's voice made Jack look up – he expected the other man's gaze to be on the Doctor, but he was staring at Jack instead, his eyes full of darkness. "A while ago he used all of his strength to keep the universe from collapsing – you know how he is. There wasn't even enough left to regenerate, and he's never recovered, has been getting weaker ever since. Now he has not even enough reserves left to keep this body alive. Before I put him into that thing I had to remove one of his hearts."

"Hasn't there been a way to heal him?" Jack swallowed the information had just received with a feeling of nausea. He didn't try to keep the desperation out of his voice – whoever Harry was, he already knew how much the Doctor meant to him.

"Of course there was a way," the other snarled in a way that made Jack wonder how much exactly the Doctor meant to Harry. "But as you can see it's failed. The Doctor is dying! He's almost gone." A hand landed heavily on Jack's shoulder as he stared through the glass at the still face of his friend, who already looked like a corpse. Harry's voice, however, was much calmer when he next spoke.

"And it's your fault," he said.

- tbc

September 9, 2008


	2. Chapter 2

As expected the human wasn't happy to learn he was in any way responsible for the Doctor's current state. He adored the little fool so obviously and so much the Master wanted to knock him over the head with something. Something hard.

But he had no desire to waste time waiting for the treacherous freak to come back to life if he hit too hard. Nor did he want to have Jack waste any more time mourning the Doctor as if he was already dead. So he turned to leave and told the other to meet him in the console room, ignoring Jack's question what exactly he had done to cause this. If he felt like it the Master would tell him eventually, when he was bored. Until then the human was allowed to wonder and imagine all sorts of terrible things. He might not believe his revelation, but he couldn't be sure 'Harry' was lying and the doubt that remained would be enough to torment him.

The Master liked that. Jack deserved a little torment in his opinion.

And once they had the time for it, Jack would get a whole lot more torment. Just the best for him. The Master would make him understand the crime he had committed – it was something to look forward to once he knew the Doctor would be okay and could concentrate on the fun things in life.

The TARDIS was still cold inside, the lights too dim. The Master had feared she was operating on minimum power, now the pilot she was bonded to had been taken out of active existence. Stepping into the room he had placed the Doctor in had dissipated those concerns – she still had enough power to reform a room, to create the illusion of daylight, just to have it shine onto the Doctor in a way that looked warming but really had no effect at all. Just like the Master she couldn't reach him.

It made him wonder why she was doing it at all.

A look through the window she had created had presented him with a white void, like an unrendered room in a computer game.

Stepping out of the bright, warm room made the rest of the ship seem even colder and darker. Maybe the TARDIS really was reacting to the freak's presence – the Master remembered how it had felt to be in the presence of a universal fact when he'd still had all of his senses, not just the minimum set provided by this mortal body. Even now he felt slightly repelled by the man in a way that nothing to do with personal dislike. He could imagine that the TARDIS, sensitive to time and reality as she was, was even more troubled by it.

Still, the Time Lord suspected, these unfriendly surroundings were more likely an expression of the ship's disapproval of his actions. This TARDIS was bonded to her pilot in a way that had amazed even the most experienced Gallifreyan experts. At least once she had torn apart time and space for his sake, and yet there were so little ways for her to express herself. She was, at the end of the day, a machine. And weather she was suffering with her Doctor, weather she hated the Master for taking him from her, or for acting against his will didn't matter for the Time Lord at all, so long as she was still working.

-

Harry had asked – ordered – Jack not to take too much time, but it was hard to turn his back on the casket containing his friend.

Beneath the glass the Doctor was utterly still, yet he didn't look peaceful. He looked like he was suffering even now. Inside that thing he was frozen in time, one single moment stretching on forever. And by the look of it, it wasn't a good moment.

Jack longed to take his hand, brush the tears off his face, but he couldn't touch him. And even if he could, he wasn't sure he would do it. Ill as he was, the Doctor probably didn't have the strength to bear Jack's presence, much less his touch.

Once again he cursed the power that kept him alive, and well away from the one he most wanted to be with.

Another thing he had to consider was the possibility that Harry had spoken the truth, that Jack truly was, in one way or another, responsible for the Doctor's state. After all it had happened during the two years he'd lost. He couldn't begin to guess what he'd been doing then, but, knowing what kind of man he'd once been, Jack had to admit to himself that anything was possible.

And he's so hoped he had finally left his past behind.

It kept catching up with him.

In any case, it was more likely than not that the Doctor wouldn't be very happy to see him when he woke up. But as long as he did wake up eventually, Jack told himself, he didn't care.

Eventually he left. It felt like both too long and far too short a time after Harry had left them alone.

The corridor was still dark and cold, but the way back to the console room didn't seem quite as long. Perhaps because the console room also contained the door leading outside, and this was the ship's way of asking Jack to leave. Well, tough. He wouldn't go before he knew the Doctor to be okay.

Harry was standing at the controls. Even seeing him raised disdain in Jack. He couldn't bring himself to like this man, and was certain Harry didn't like him either. But if it had truly been Jack's fault that the Doctor was close to death that was hardly a surprise.

The human didn't trust Harry, but he could see that the man cared about the Time Lord a lot. He just didn't know if he liked it.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he stepped closer. Harry just glanced at him briefly and turned back to the controls. After a moment the column in the middle began to move.

Only the Doctor had ever been able to operate the TARDIS. The Doctor and the Master.

The realization hit Jack like a fist in the face. For a second he froze while his brain figured out the possibilities.

So far he's always believed, only a Time Lord could steer the ship. But if that was true 'Harry' had to be a Time Lord.

And when it came to Time Lords only two people came to Jack's mind. One of them was frozen in time and dying, the other already dead.

Or so he'd thought.

Once the thought had been formed it wouldn't leave Jack alone. He reminded himself that the Master had refused to regenerate, had been burned to ashes, that there hadn't been anything left of his body to regenerate, but how certain could he be in the end? The Doctor had taken care of his old enemy on his own. No one else had seen him burn. So what if the Doctor had lied, for whatever reason? What if the Master had survived after all? If he had regenerated Jack had no way of recognizing him.

In the end there was a very simple way of finding out. Jack forced himself to remain calm, to give nothing away, as he opened his wrist device and let his tool perform a quick scan of the man in front of him.

According to the scanner Harry wasn't human. But he was no Time Lord either: One heart, a body temperature of thirty-four degrees, no respiratory bypass system. The machine identified his planet of origin as Cobscar, a world Jack had never heard of.

Only the relief he felt now made him realize how much the possibility of the Master being alive had disturbed him.

It also disturbed him that Harry was obviously determined to ignore his question.

"Why do you think I can do anything you can't?" he asked the back of the other's head. "If you want me to help you, you should at least tell me how." And he had noticed the Harry had used the words 'help me' not even once. He'd always spoken either of 'assisting' him or helping the Doctor.

"I chose you for this task," Harry eventually replied, "because you are the obvious choice."

"Oh, thank you! Now I am that much smarter!"

"For one thing, its dangerous and you can't die. The Doctor wouldn't like anyone to be killed because of him." Harry didn't give the impression that anyone being killed because of the Doctor would have bothered _him_ very much. "Another reason is that you have a motivation to help him." He finally turned around to face Jack with a cold smile. "After all, you have to make up for something."

"I won't let that count before you have told me what exactly I'm supposed to have done."

Harry ignored Jack's protest. "But most of all it has to be you because you have something we need."

"Which would be?"

"Immortality."

Jack frowned in surprise. "It's not transferable," he pointed out. "I can share a bit of it in certain circumstances, but from what I have learned about the Doctor's state I'm afraid it wouldn't work here." He sighed. "I'm willing to try anyway, of course."

"No, you won't," Harry said sharply. "You're not going to take him out of the stasis-field before I know what we'll try is going to work."

"Why not?" Jack narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What's so bad about that? You said he would survive for at least a few more hours. Time enough to try and put him back if it doesn't work."

"It's not an option!" Harry decided, stressing every word. An explanation he offered not. Jack let him get away with it this time. He changed the topic.

"How do you know I am immortal anyway? You said we've met when I was still…. normal."

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to the console. "The Doctor told me about you, of course. We're almost there."

"Almost where?"

"Almost at our destination. No longer almost, now. Get out, I'm right behind you."

Apparently getting out was the only way for Jack to find out where they were. Considering the idea that Harry had lied to him in order to take revenge by leaving him behind on some gruesome planet Jack opened the door and made sure he had a firm grip on the frame in case the other man should try to shove him out.

His hands dropped when he recognized the building they had landed in.

"You're kidding, right?" he gasped.

More than a hundred years had passed since he'd last set foot into these halls, still he knew exactly where they were. Not just the planet, not just the building, but which floor, which room, and the exact year.

The plants in the room told him. This was the one year Gellia had been in the office of the head of security before she had been killed.

"That's the other reason why I picked you," Harry admitted, stepping beside him. "I need someone who has access to the archives of the time agency."

-

Jack couldn't say he was particularly happy to be back to this place. Conflicting feelings battled each other inside him as he walked though the corridors to the lift leading downstairs.

They had landed on the ninety-third floor. The archives were, for some reason, on the thirty-sixth to forty-fifth floors. They were protected against teleports, time manipulations or any other way of entering except through the doors, which was why they couldn't have just landed there. Why Harry had had to park the TARDIS this far above the storeys in question was beyond Jack, though. On the other hand, there was no reason why he should be able to navigate the ship more successfully than the Doctor.

Speaking of which, Jack still didn't know how it was possible for Harry to fly the TARDIS at all. Jack certainly wasn't able to.

He could merely cause her to run away.

Walking down the corridor Jack did his best not to seem self-conscious or nervous. He'd aged since he'd last been here – not much, but he did look… different, at least, if not necessarily much older. And this wasn't even the time of his last stay in the agency. They day he'd dropped out were still a few years in the future.

Of course, if asked he could always claim he'd gotten the time wrong on one of his trips, but things such as that were usually frowned upon. They weren't supposed to risk meeting their past selves, or those of friends and colleagues if they could avoid it.

At least no one would be able to punish his younger self for this mistake until he'd made it… And speaking of his younger self, there was another situation he rather would avoid. He just had too many things he'd be tempted to tell himself.

At least Harry had managed not to hit the two years he was missing.

The agency was an organization more secretive than it probably had to be. Strangers raised suspicion, or at least interest on any floor above the tenth, even if they were in the company of a well knows agent, and so Harry had stayed behind. As Jack had left him he'd been sitting behind Gellia's desk, sorting through her papers in some kind of bored fascination. The human could only hope he wouldn't do anything to mess with the timeline. Harry had been travelling with the Doctor, he even could operate the TARDIS, but Jack had no way of telling how much he really knew about time travel and its consequences.

Jack was pretty sure that this was a time when he'd been on a mission with his partner, who later called himself Captain John Hart. The mission hadn't taken long but somehow they had managed to miss the correct returning-time by two weeks, so there was little chance of running into himself. Still he was glad when he got to the lift without any unpleasant incident.

He was tense, more so than his experience justified. Being here, among people who'd been friends and lovers and had ultimately betrayed him by taking his memories (or would do so someday) was almost more than he could bear. He was glad he didn't meet anyone.

The lift arrived at the right level in practically no time. Even though Jack had hardly ever entered the archives while he worked here, he was authorized to do so. He got though the scanners without any problem, and the two human guards in front of the main entrance just greeted him respectfully and stepped aside. He vaguely remembered having seen them before but they didn't know him well enough to notice the changes. A brief question provided the information that there was no one else in the archive at the moment.

Harry had told him what he needed, and it all made a little more sense now. Still, Jack was not convinced it was going to work. They had to try, though. Apparently it was all they could do.

And once the Doctor came back to life – Jack didn't want to consider the possibility that he wouldn't – he would finally learn what he had done wrong, back in the days when he hadn't loved the Time Lord and been a man who would not stray from his path for the sake of others. Even if the Doctor didn't want to see him ever again after that.

Because deep down inside Jack was convinced that Harry had spoken the truth, that his friend had become collateral damage of whatever Jack – or Bill – had been doing then.

Inside the archive Jack logged in to the computer to find out where exactly the object he was looking for was stored. An internal lift took him another storey down, and after half an hour of searching he found the right box. It was large.

Too large for him to carry. There was no way of getting his thing out without attracting attention.

Jack didn't risk loss of dignity by trying. He took out the four small devices Harry had given him and positioned them on the floor around the box. Then he climbed onto the box and pulled his legs close to his chest, not sure what exactly would happen next but unwilling to lose any parts of his body to a local or temporal distortion.

He suspected that the devices would create a hole in the field that protected these halls from invasion-by-time-machine, so he wasn't at all surprised when he heard the typical sound of a materializing police box.

What surprised him was the visual effect that came along with it. Jack had expected to see the TARDIS appear in front of him, not for the storage room he was sitting in to mix with, and slowly be eaten by, the interior of the TARDIS console room.

The ship was materializing around him and the box. It was a strange thing to experience.

Once he was certain he was completely inside the ship Jack climbed off the box and threw a suspicious glare at Harry.

"I thought only the Doctor could fly the TARDIS like that," he stated. The arrogant bastard didn't even look at him.

"Yes," he said absentmindedly. "Many people think that." A switch was flicked and the ship took off again, and Jack spared a thought for the guys at the entrance who would eventually wonder why he didn't come out again.

Once they were back in the vortex, Harry had Jack open the box that was sealed by an genetic lock. Inside they found exactly the machine they'd wanted to get. Would have been a bad moment to find out the box had been labelled wrongly, thought Jack, and helped Harry take it out of the container. Together they managed to carry it, though Jack suspected the TARDIS was helping by lowering the gravity – while stumbling though the corridor he felt suspiciously light.

Still he didn't look forward to carrying it all the way to the Doctor's room, and hoped the ship would be equally cooperative when it came to the distance. As it turned out it was, even though it wasn't the warm, sunlit room they had been aiming for.

The infirmary seemed to have changed during the time of Jack's absence. It seemed more spacious somehow, as if sparing some room for their device to be placed.

"I hate to break it to you," Jack said what he'd wanted to mention all long, "but this thing has never been successfully tested. Either the people working for the agency are all stupid or it plainly doesn't work."

"No, you're all stupid." Harry didn't appear bothered by the revelation. "You simply have no idea how this is supposed to work."

"Oh? Enlighten me, genius!"

For once Harry did: "This thing wasn't created by humans, you just stole it. The people you tested it one simply didn't have enough power for any effect, and besides that you were too careful and didn't chose a high enough setting." He smirked. "Either that, or you didn't find the On switch."

"And you know all about it," Jack observed dryly. "How?"

"Does it matter? Stay here!"

"No way!" Jack followed Harry as he strode out of the room with long steps. Outside, the Cobscarian sighed exasperatedly.

"You were so much easier to handle as Bill," he proclaimed. Jack ignored him for the sake of peace and even let the other order him around when it came to getting the machine that contained the Doctor to the infirmary.

The ways all seemed shorter this time, as if now, when they were finally able to do something, the TARDIS couldn't wait to get her pilot back. The corridor even was broader than it had been before, making it easier to move the device.

The Doctor looked so frail inside that thing.

Before taking him out, Harry left the room once again, while Jack stayed behind to keep his friend some useless company. Harry returned a few minutes later.

"I've landed the TARDIS on Earth," he explained. "So we won't be lost in the vortex forever if he dies after all and she'll stop functioning." How wonderful to see that he wasn't so worried that he'd forget the practical things over it…

Jack said, "You don't seem to know the TARDIS so well after all. If the Doctor dies, an emergency program will take us home."

Harry didn't react but for a small "Hm", kept staring at the trapped Time Lord, and Jack added, "I wonder where she would take _you_."

Harry snapped out of his thoughts.

"Let's hope you won't find out," he said. "And let's stop wasting time."

Even though he knew it was silly Jack expected that switching off the machine that kept the Doctor frozen in time would have some kind of visible effect. It didn't. The Doctor lay as still and pale as he had one second before. Only when he looked very closely Jack saw his chest rise ever so faintly.

Harry chased him away when Jack wanted to assist him with taking the motionless man out of the casket he was resting in. Instead he lifted him on his own as if the Doctor weighed nothing, and placed him on the bed beside the machine they'd stolen from the agency.

Jack didn't wait for Harry to tell him what to do, knowing very well which part he had to play now. He sat down onto the single seat of the device while Harry connected a number of wires to the Doctor's limp form. There were restrains on the seat he had taken, indicating that whoever it was meant for usually didn't sit in it by choice. He could imagine why. It didn't matter.

The device transferred life-force from one person to the next. The agency had known what it was meant for but never managed to work with it. As Harry had said, they'd probably taken far too little to have any effect.

"The Doctor has virtually nothing left," Harry said as he flipped switches and adjusted settings. "There's a damn big void to fill. Time Lords usually have more vital energy than a human does – much more, because they need as much to survive." Jack thought he heard a hint of satisfaction in Harry's voice when he said, "The process might drain you completely. Are you prepared to die for him?" His finger was placed on the button that would activate the machine.

If he said no Harry was hardly going to care, Jack knew. And if the process killed him, he'd never know if the Doctor would survive.

Jack had died so often before. He knew there was no afterlife that would reunite him with his loved ones. If Harry was right this was the last time he'd ever see his friend.

As it would be if he refused to take the risk. And dying for the Doctor, he decided, was a hell of a lot better than never dying at all.

"Yes," he said.

Harry smiled coldly.

"Good."

He pressed the button.

- tbc

September 13, 2008


	3. Chapter 3

It was a slow awakening. He was drifting through a darkness filled with nightmares, terror and the knowledge that something wasn't right. Every attempt to struggle out of the horror strengthened its hold on him, even as he got closer to the surface.

The nightmares faded while the wrongness became worse. The terror lingered and the brief moment between dreaming and the return of his memories offered no relief.

He gasped for air.

No. Something was wrong. He needed to get away from it but he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Instinctively he knew he would never escape from this hell. Wrong. Wrong. _Take it away, please._ Nothing made sense. Everything was wrong, fractured, wrong.

The nightmare went on, reality wouldn't settle. Knowing he couldn't get away he still tried. It was too much. Too much. He longed for the peace he had to leave behind.

There was too much nothing here. No association. No echo. He was all alone, with nowhere to run. All around him strong expletives mixed with absolute negations, and all he had to fight with were helpless pleas and no air.

_Please._

He didn't know that his eyes were open, or that his hands were clawing at the sheets. He arched his back and had no voice to scream.

-

It was a slow awakening. He felt like he was climbing out of a dark well, with nothing below him but an endless fall. The void seemed to pull on his legs, but he broke out of its grip and came, gasping, to the surface.

His eyes flew open and the first things he saw was the Doctor's face.

The Time Lord was lying on his side, facing Jack. An oxygen mask covered his white face and tubes and wires ran up to his body. His hair was a mess, his eyes closed. He didn't move.

Jack sat up slowly – he limbs felt heavy, as if he hadn't moved in a year, and his mind had a hard time shaking off the remnants of sleep. He had a headache, felt dizzy and generally miserable.

When he moved, the Doctor's hand that had been resting on his forearm flopped to the mattress.

He looked even more miserable than Jack was feeling. Dark shadows around his eyes were the only colour in his white face, but at least the tears were gone. He looked very ill, but at least he also looked alive.

It occurred to Jack that he was laying on something soft, at equal height with the Doctor, in touching distance to him. Looking around he discovered that he'd been put on a bed in the infirmary, and that said bed had been placed right beside the Doctor's. It surprised him quite a bit. Harry didn't seem the type to do something like that, and the Doctor certainly hadn't done it himself.

A noise made Jack turn around and fight nausea for a second. When his vision cleared he had to turn again because Harry had already passed his bed and was looking at the monitors beside the Doctor's.

"It seems you are still alive," he observed without sparing the human a glance.

"And it seems I'm lying in bed." Jack noted with dismay how shaky his voice was. "I had expected you to leave me lying on the floor."

Harry nodded towards the Doctor. "He insisted."

"He woke up then!" Relief made Jack feel even weaker than before. "He's going to be alright now, isn't he?"

Harry snorted and for a moment Jack thought he wouldn't answer him at all.

"He's healing," he finally said. "Slowly. But there's progress, and that's more than I've seen in a long time. Yes. He's going to live." The man reached out as if to stroke the Doctor's hair, but withdrew his hand just before he touched it to look at Jack instead. "He drained you quite successfully. I'm surprised you have anything left at all."

It certainly explained his weakness. Jack wondered just how much he had given the Doctor. Was he still immortal, or had the machine taken all that life away from him? He tried to listen into himself, to find out if anything had changed, but it was no use – he hadn't known he was immortal until he'd died for the first time in the nineteenth century. Nothing had felt different for him then, and he felt just as normal now. Just weak. So incredibly weak.

Even breathing felt like too much of an effort.

But the Doctor was healing. Whatever the cost, it had been well worth it.

The Time Lord had woken up, he'd made sure Jack was comfortable, had even reached for his hand. Whatever Jack had done to him (if anything), he had been forgiven.

With a sigh Jack let himself fall back onto the pillow. He took the Doctor's delicate hand and squeezed it slightly.

There was no response, but Harry frowning in annoyance was better than nothing. Jack didn't doubt for a second that the man would rather have had him die.

Maybe he could die, now. Maybe the process of saving the Doctor had left him a mere mortal. Jack didn't yet know how to feel about that. He'd suffered for his immortality, but had gotten used to its advantages as well. In any case he had forgotten how to take care of his own life.

The Doctor would be able to tell him more – he'd sensed Jack's wrongness, after all. He'd sense it if it was gone.

Feeling much better for the knowledge that the Doctor would live, Jack closed his eyes and let the darkness wash over him again.

Even if the Time Lord could not tell him weather or not he was finally able to die, sooner or later he would definitely find out.

-

The Master frowned as the human drifted back to sleep, his mind far away. Contrary to his assumption for the case that his attempt to save the Doctor was actually successful, he was not entirely satisfied.

The stubborn fool would live. The Master had won this game. The Doctor's survival should be all that mattered to him, regardless of the consequences. Yet, despite the relief that came with having the Doctor's remaining heart beat a little stronger than before, the Master couldn't shake off the feeling that he had merely traded one cause for concern for another.

He found himself unable to forget the Doctor's reaction upon waking; the unspeakable horror in his eyes, the struggle that had cost him more strength than he had to spare.

Mere days had passed for the Master since he had trapped the Doctor in time, taking him out of existence. Where time did not matter it was of no consequence weather he had done so for seconds or years. There had been no cause for hurry but his own anxious curiosity concerning the amount of damage his ruthless action had caused.

And he had woken the Doctor by feeding the endless energies of the vortex into his body, the same energies that made it neigh impossible for any Time Lord to stand the presence of Jack Harkness. How the Doctor could possibly bear his own unbalanced, impossible existence the Master couldn't guess. He was determined, however, not to care as long as the Doctor somehow bore it.

His determination wavered at the memory of the Doctor's soundless scream.

But the Master took consolation from the fact that his friend had calmed down in the end and, when his strength left him, even reached a state near coherency. He had taken in his surroundings, had seen the human who'd fallen off his seat and in strengthless whispers demanded to have him made comfortable and put in reaching distance. He would not let it go, and the Master had complied for fear of the Doctor exhausting himself beyond measure in his agitation.

His presumption was that the other Time Lord had insisted on physical contact with the human before sinking back into oblivion because he didn't trust the Master not to dispose of him in his weakened state. It that were true he was not completely wrong. Ideas such as that had indeed crossed the Master's mind, but he would keep Jack close for a while, until he knew for certain he wasn't needed anymore.

It was more of a symbolic gesture anyway. The Doctor was too far gone to wake in the event of the Master moving Jack, weather he touched him or not. The human moving all on his own had caused not so much as the flicker of an eyelid.

Now they both lay still and silent, but Jack's heart was beating strongly, his breaths even and deep without artificial help. Despite everything the Doctor was still fragile – even if the life force taken from the immortal had been enough to replace what had been lost, the Time Lord still had a lot of healing to do. But the Master already feared that what Jack had been able to offer was but a tiny portion of what the Doctor needed. Still, a tiny portion was far better than nothing at all.

After taking care of the Doctor's needs and one last scornful look at the human, the Master left the infirmary and returned to the console room, sending the TARDIS back into the vortex where nothing could possibly disturb them except a catastrophe of truly universal proportions. Relishing in this moment when he didn't have to worry about the Doctor too much and Jack wasn't awake to get on his nerves, he grabbed something to eat in the kitchen before finally going to his own bedroom to rest.

The sight of his bed made him pause in the doorway. The last time he had been in this room he had placed the Doctor onto the same bed, just after he'd passed by the other's room to find 'Bill' pounding him into the mattress. That time the Doctor had been feverish and weak, and yet the Master had never thought that the next day he'd be close to dying.

It seemed like such a long time ago.

The bed was made, the sheets smelled clean and fresh. There was no proof it had ever really happened but the Doctor himself, unconscious in his bed in the infirmary. The Master shook off the sudden urge to go back there, look for him once again. Instead he took a shower and slipped under the covers to finally get the rest this mortal body so badly craved.

-

When he woke up for the second time, Jack noted not without considerable relief, that he was feeling much better. Some part of him had feared that he would stay weak like that forever.

'Much better' didn't exactly mean 'good', but at least he could move without feeling the need to throw up everything he'd ever eaten. Beside him the Doctor was still sleeping, giving no impression of having moved during the past few hours. Jack watched him for a while, with a mixture of affection, worry and relief. His fingers were still lying on the Doctor's limp hand, and now Jack realised that the Time Lord's knuckles were reddened and warm to the touch. All the joints in that hand showed signs of infection. Jack frowned, suddenly relieved his friend was still sleeping and hoping the infection would lessen before he woke up.

He didn't have the slightest idea where it came from.

Harry could probably tell him, but for the moment Jack was quite happy he was nowhere in sight.

Getting up wasn't as hard as he'd thought, mainly due to the fact that the bed was so high he merely had to put his feet on the floor to reach a standing position. Staying up proved slightly harder. Suddenly the room was spinning again, but after a minute Jack felt balanced enough to walk a few steps. His body got used to it surprisingly quickly.

He was still wearing his clothes, and if he wanted them to remain in a wearable stated he needed a bathroom, and soon. The infirmary had only one door, leading back to the corridor. Jack opened it and found himself inside a large, luxurious bathroom. He didn't complain, rather certain that the next time he tried the same door it would lead to the corridor again.

Briefly he wondered what Harry would find if he tried to get into the infirmary this moment.

Jack longed for a shower but decided it had to wait. When he got back to the infirmary his legs already felt wobbly again, yet he ignored his bed in favour of having a closer look at the monitors arranged beside the Doctor's bed.

Like all monitors in the TARDIS they gave their information in Gallifreyan symbols. How Harry was able to make sense of them Jack didn't even want to think about – the idea of the Doctor having taught him his people's language hurt more than just Jack's pride.

Fortunately the monitors also offered diagrams and pictures. Jack studied all he could make sense of and was shocked when he found a scan of the Doctor's body, showing him more broken bones than he had ever seen in a person still living.

The Time Lord's head and neck appeared to have escaped most of the damage, but both his legs had been broken in several places. Barely one rip had remained whole and Jack felt sick when he saw that even the Doctor's spine had been harmed.

"Those are just the remains of old injuries," Harry said right beside him and made him jump. "You should have seen him when it happened." He chuckled, but there was no humour in it.

"When _what_ happened?" asked Jack, his voice tight.

"A building collapsed on top of him." Harry shrugged, as if it didn't really matter. "He would have regenerated had he still been able to. Like this I had a hard time keeping him alive. Time Lord's are tougher than humans but the dear Doctor simply didn't have the strength to properly recover from that. But now, I hope, he will."

Jack glanced at his friend. "The look of him doesn't make me feel very optimistic."

"Patience, Harkness." Jack had never known those words could sound quite so belittling. "You've been immortal for so long you've forgotten how it feels to be fragile. When you're hurt or ill you just die and are fine again. Real recovery takes time. It's a hard and painful process, but eventually things get better."

Ah, the voice of experience. Jack grimaced, wondering if that experience was Harry's own, or if he spoke of the recovery of people he'd hurt – possibly to see how recovering worked. Jack wouldn't put it beyond him.

Despite not at all knowing him, the man struck Jack as not quite human every time they met. It reminded Jack that Harry wasn't human after all. He looked it, but so did the Doctor.

It was about time to look up that planet Harry came from.

"Are you going to tell me now what exactly I'm supposed to have dome to him?" Jack asked. To his annoyance the exhaustion in his voice drowned out the impatience. "You said it was my fault. Are you trying to tell me I dropped a building on him?"

"Don't be silly. I said you were responsible he was still like this, not that you caused his injuries."

"Now I'm about as smart as before."

"And that's about as smart as you'll ever be, I'm afraid. Really, a monkey has more learning potential than you."

The cool arrogance in Harry's voice made it hard for Jack to stay calm. It reminded him of someone else in a way that made him want to break his nose, crack open his skull. Harry smirked and Jack wondered if he knew he was provoking pointless aggression.

The Doctor wouldn't want them to fight. Probably. Right now all Jack wanted was for the Time Lord to wake up and tell him that Harry was really his friend and not some dangerous psychopath who had to be taken out.

Or maybe he was hoping for the exact opposite. Because taking out Harry would make for a nice change here…

It would have to wait until he felt stronger, though. At the moment Jack could only stand around uselessly and watch as Harry carefully slid his arms under the Doctor's body and moved him so he was resting on his back. Watching him handle the helpless man with such care Jack couldn't cling to his suspicion that Harry was the one really to blame for this mess.

He tried anyway. Just for the sake of it.

-

Harry kindly left them alone once he was done caring for the Doctor. Jack still felt tired and weak, but sleep wouldn't come to him. Now, without a splitting headache to distract him there was too much thinking going on in his head for him to find any rest.

So he sat cross-legged on his bed, took the Doctor's brittle hand and willed him to move.

It worked – eventually.

Jack's heard skipped a beat when his friend's eyes fluttered open, and broke when he closed them again and whimpered, a lost little sound. Under his oxygen mask he seemed to gasp for air and Jack automatically reached out for him, stoked his hair, tired to calm him.

"It's okay," he mumbled. "You're going to be fine." Then it struck him that his presence might not be helping at all. If he had _not_ lost his immortality and still felt wrong to the Doctor he was probably causing more harm than he made up for.

But when he tried to move away, the Doctor's hand around his arm kept him from getting very far.

The other hand wished away the mask before flopping bonelessly to the mattress. The Doctor's gaze was on the human even though he was struggling to keep open his eyes.

"Jack." It sounded like a sob.

"Yes, I'm here," Jack said eagerly. "Don't speak. You're very ill." Stupid words – rumour had it that the Doctor already knew. "But you'll get better," Jack hastily added. "Just keep your strength." He reached for the mask, tried to put it back. The Doctor stopped him, with the hint of a gesture.

"What is it?" Jack leaned in closer. "Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want me to get Harry?" he added, hoping the answer would be No.

"Harry," the Doctor repeated, his weak voice barely reaching Jack's ears. It sounded almost like a question. "He's…"

"He's what?" Jack asked, suddenly eager for the Doctor to continue. "Did he do something to you? Who is he?"

The Doctor shook his head, desperately trying to from words. "Leave him alone," he eventually managed. "No fighting."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jack lied. "We get along great. Don't worry." But the Doctor shook his head again.

"He'll tell you…" The Time Lord seemed to sink deeper into the pillow as his strength left him. "Don't believe him. He's lying." His eyes closed and he passed out, leaving Jack with even more questions than before.

- tbc

September 20, 2008


	4. Chapter 4

The Doctor was staring at the ceiling, resisting the urge to close his eyes. It was just an instinct anyway – hiding in the dark wouldn't help him.

The room seemed to be spinning around him. No, not the room: the entire cosmos appeared unbalanced, out of pace. It was no optical illusion. Everything was firmly in place but him.

He felt like drowning.

The world was falling away from him, staying always just out of reach. It was an almost painful sensation that had no physical aspect. Like an itch he couldn't scratch it was driving him crazy.

But all this was almost overshadowed by the all consuming impression of...

"Hey!"

A blink of his eyes and suddenly the Master's face filled his vision. The Doctor had been barely aware the other Time Lord was present, even though he'd moved around him for a while. The Master took care of the Doctor like another person might take care of cleaning the dishes: With a distant annoyance for a task that had to be done. Now a frown was etched into his features, and the Doctor realised that he had stared unresponding at the ceiling long enough for the other to worry.

"Are you listening to me?" The annoyance still lingered in the Master's voice, but the Doctor knew his old friend was more worried by his unfocused behaviour than he liked to admit. He knew how silly it was to feel sorry for that when he had every right to be angry.

And angry he was. Desperate and furious but too lost to focus on anything but the fact that everything wasn't right.

The painkillers he'd been given did nothing to dull that particular kind of agony. They merely narrowed his opportunities to distract himself with anything else.

Staring at the Master's face the idea of reacting to his words in any way never crossed the Doctor's mind.

"Are you alright?" This time the worry was audible. It brought the Doctor back to reality and gave him something else to focus on but the endless, swirling abyss inside him.

"Yes." He'd intended to speak strongly, with conviction. The words left his throat a weak whisper. "I'm fine," he added, his voice hardly any stronger.

He'd spend a lot of time weak and miserable. It was something he'd never quite gotten used to.

"You didn't seem fine just now." The Doctor knew the Master wasn't speaking of his physical health. There was no doubt about the state of _that_.

It was unsettling, this lack of movement where his right heart had been.

The Doctor wanted to repeat his words, assure that he was okay. "And whose fault is that?" he said instead, because it was true and because he would be furious, if only he could spare the energy.

The Master's gaze turned cold. He didn't care for the Doctor's objections, as long as he got his will.

He'd be lost if the Doctor died. The ill Time Lord felt sadness and desperation at the thought – it was a responsibility he didn't want.

He'd always been the only one with the power to break the Master.

"You are not losing your mind, are you?" the Master asked straightforward. The Doctor didn't have the strength to snort.

"And if I was? Would you care?"

"Yes. Go ahead, please. It would make realising my plans so much easier."

There had never been any doubt for the Doctor that the Master wouldn't stay this peaceful forever. The events on Cobscar, his injuries and the other's desperate search for a way to prolong his life had postponed whatever he'd had in mind, but once he felt he could leave the Doctor alone without him dying the next moment, he'd be off, to cause chaos somewhere just so the Doctor would stop him.

His words were meant to tell the Doctor that he didn't care about his mental state. They told him that the Master wanted him to remember just how much he was needed.

"You shouldn't have done that," he murmured bitterly.

"Would you have preferred if I didn't?" the Master asked dryly.

The Doctor's gaze never left his face. "Yes," he said softly, and tried not to notice how the other stiffened ever so slightly at his reply. He hadn't been looking for death, but he'd been ready, and this was so much worse. His time had simply run out, and the Master knew it. He just couldn't accept it.

"You left me no choice."

The Doctor didn't answer. They'd had this discussion often enough.

"How long have you left me in that thing?" he asked after a moment of silence, suppressing a shudder at the reminder that for him that particular span of time didn't exist.

"Little more than a day. I went to Jack not long after I put you away." The Master answered at once, before he could think about his words and realise that he was telling more than he wanted the Doctor to know.

Time hadn't existed for him. There was no need for haste. The Master could have seized the opportunity and let the TARDIS take him anywhere in the universe, to work on some evil plan, prepare everything for their next game while the Doctor couldn't stop him. But he hadn't. He'd wasted no time before pulling the Doctor back to life, because he couldn't be sure it would work, not before he saw it, and the worry didn't leave him alone. He'd needed to _know_.

The thought was desolating. The Doctor thought of something else instead.

"Where's Jack?" He hoped the answer would be _Home_.

"No idea. The last time I've seen him he was roaming through your library."

The last time the Doctor had seen Jack, the human had been sitting beside him, looking terribly pale and exhausted. He hadn't needed to ask what they had done to him, what had caused Jack's state. Not when he felt it with every fibre of his being.

The two of them, without anyone to keep them off each other's throat… it couldn't go well, even if Jack didn't know who the man he knew as 'Harry' really was.

It was about time the Doctor got out of bed. It was about time Jack got home. It was about time this story came to a conclusion.

The Master had never had any particular love for Jack, and the Doctor had seen enough since waking up to know that Jack stopping him from murdering thousands just so the Doctor would live had not improved their relationship. Knowing his old friend he was sure that the Master would do anything he could to take some kind of revenge on the human – he didn't need a reason for cruelty on the best of days. And the Doctor could think of several things he didn't want to happen. Things he didn't want Jack to know.

He needed to stop the Master from hurting Jack. He needed to stop Jack from murdering the Master in his anger. Too many things could go wrong while he was stuck here, helpless to influence things in any way.

To keeps things from happening. All he could do was worry, and try to accept that he was still alive.

It wasn't enough. If he was living it had to be for something.

His long struggle with death had cost him pounds this final body of his didn't have to spare. Still it felt like he was weighing a ton as he tried to push himself into an upright position. Even moving his arms felt like dragging bundles of potatoes over the mattress.

The Master watched his futile attempts with a grimace.

"What's that supposed to be?" he asked.

"Movement," the Doctor explained, already out of breath. "I used to be quite good at it."

"Well, now you're not. Stop that!"

"Why would I?" Snapping sounded so much better if one had the voice for it, the Doctor decided.

"You're wasting your strength."

"What do you care?" Glaring was something the Doctor could still do quite effectively. "You gave me that strength, so you get to decide what I do with it?"

"Exactly. And I say you'll keep it."

By way of answering the Doctor summoned all his Master-given strength and got himself into an upright position. Somehow he managed to push his heavy, aching (wrong) body backwards, so he was falling against the headboard of the bed and not all the way back down.

The pillow was crushed uncomfortably in his back.

A part of him was surprised that the Master hadn't stopped him. But the other Time Lord merely sighed – something seen rather than heard – and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You're an idiot," he proclaimed. Despite the hard edge in his voice the words sounded almost fondly. "What are you going to do now, hm?"

To himself the Doctor had to admit that he had no idea. This little exercise had shown him that out of bed he wouldn't be able to do anything but fall to the floor.

If only he could get up at least long enough to get to the console room. Then he would send Jack home and reduce the danger of murder or unpleasant events of another kind. Also, there had to be a reason for the Master to have kept the former time agent close despite their mutual dislike. And whatever it was, the Doctor couldn't imagine he'd like it.

But he couldn't even do that yet. Even if he overdosed on painkillers (again), the medicine would not enable his weak legs to carry him.

And his problems didn't stop there. Once he'd steered the TARDIS to Earth he'd have to convince Jack of leaving, and knowing his friend that wouldn't be easy. Jack was worried about him, and probably wouldn't want him to be alone with someone he couldn't stand.

And then there was the problem of keeping the Master from going back and picking him up again once the Doctor's strength had run out.

Everything was beyond his control. The pain, the fever, the constant battle with insanity had drained the Doctor, and when a wave of desperation washed over him, he had to focus all his self-control to keep his face from crumbling.

While he tried to get back from the edge of an emotional breakdown, the Master surprised him once again. When the other man reached for him, the Doctor was convinced he'd push him back down, and keep him there. But the Master only took the crushed pillow, shook it, and placed it properly behind the Doctor's back again.

"You'll be fine," he said. Like a promise, but the Doctor realised that really it was a plea.

"What if I'm not?" The question was almost cruel, but the Doctor had to know. He was slowly getting better, but no one could tell if it would last. The draining emptiness inside of him was gone, but it had been filled with something he couldn't bear. Nothing was alright. The Master knew it. He had to.

"You will. Don't be stupid."

He had to know, but was unable to let go of his denial. The Doctor had feared it would be so.

"I mean it." He was painfully aware that for the Master the thought of losing him was unbearable, as he had been the centre of his enemy's existence for far too long. He wouldn't know what to do without him. "I'm getting stronger, but I'm feeling worse than ever." It had to be said. "You know I should be dead. You have to take into consideration that soon I might be anyway."

The slap was unexpected, yet it didn't surprise him either. It wasn't even a very hard one, but in his current state it was enough to make his head spin.

Suddenly he was feeling just tired. Tired enough for the expectation of nightmares to stop frightening him.

"I won't let you go," the Master hissed.

But it was the Doctor who couldn't let the Master go, who had too firm a hold on him, even though he didn't mean to. With the tearing exhaustion came the realisation that he couldn't put his finger on the exact moment when things had started to go wrong for them.

The exact moment when he'd lost a friend.

"This isn't a game," he said quietly. "And I'm not playing to win."

"Good, because you won't."

"This is only about winning for _you_, isn't it?" The Doctor knew perfectly well it wasn't true – he merely wanted to offer the Master a way to explain his strong reaction without having to admit how much he depended on him. He'd never admit it, not even to himself, and so facing a situation in which he had to would only lead to more anger. "You don't care whether I live or die. You just want to have the last word."

"Exactly." The Master readily jumped on the opportunity he'd been offered, and the cold, hard smile returned to his face.

It was a smile that echoed in the place where the Doctor's second heart had been, and it made him add, "The TARDIS won't accept you as her pilot. I tried. If you lose your game you'll be stuck."

"You…!" Suddenly anger flashed in the Master's face once again. In his unsteady moods he was predictable to those who knew him, and the Doctor was aware he should have stayed silent. "How could you even _think_ of doing something like that? Did you count on dying that much?"

"No," the Doctor snapped back. "It was meant as a birthday present! I thought you'd like it."

Somehow the Master managed not to strangle him. He surprised the Doctor by getting up and walking away without another word. One second later he surprised him even more by turning again and coming back.

Still without speaking he sat down on the bed once more and there was still fury in his eyes, but something else as well. Something the Doctor caught a glimpse of just before the other reached for him and pulled him into an embrace, tight and possessive. Something that told him that he'd been wrong; that the Master did know how much he depended on the Doctor, and at some point during the Doctor's slow fading away had come to accept it.

And he was terrified of losing him, even now. More terrified than he had ever been for his own life. The realisation stunned the Doctor. Maybe it should have made him feel joy, or relief. But it only made him feel guilty, scared, and somehow it made him want to cry.

It also made him wrap his arms around the other man and hold him close until the Master broke down and wept.

-

It were the voices that drew Jack to the infirmary. Well, one voice, really, echoing weakly through the corridors, too far away make out the actual words. But there had been pauses in between long enough to make it sound like the speaker was having a conversation with someone unheard, not just giving a monologue.

The conversation took place too far away for Jack to make out the words, but to him it sounded disconcertingly like they were talking in another language.

It didn't have to mean anything. Harry, despite his human name, was from another world, and maybe the conversation was private and the TARDIS didn't translate his language into English because it was none of Jack's business.

Unfortunately that perfectly logical explanation didn't stop Jack's stomach from reducing in size at hearing them speak in a language known only to them. But his stomach regained some of its size at the realisation that the Doctor speaking, even if it was too quiet for his voice to carry, meant that the Doctor was awake. A good opportunity to ask a few questions, or at least see if he was feeling better. So it were the voices that drew Jack to the infirmary. Them, and the fact that he'd intended to go there anyway.

The door was only half closed, and the sight that greeted the human when he pushed it open made him stop dead in his tracks and quickly pull it shut until only a small gap remained for him to gaze through.

There was nothing wrong with what he saw, technically. It was just so unexpected that he didn't know how else to react. Also, he was quite sure Harry would have killed him for witnessing this moment.

The Doctor was sitting upright on his bed, holding Harry in his arms – Harry, who was clinging to him like a drowning man as his body shook with soundless sobs.

Jack's heart was racing. He felt like he had just stumbled over some incredible secret but had no idea what exactly it meant. He didn't know what this scene told him, expect that Harry, bastard that he was, clearly cared for the Doctor in a way Jack had put beyond him before this moment, and that somehow they were a lot closer than Jack had expected.

Sitting on that bed, entwined, they looked like they'd known each other for ages.

Jack didn't like it.

It made him feel uncomfortable, left out. Reminded him that there were so many people in the universe who knew the Doctor better than he ever would.

Faced with the decision to either go away and leave them to themselves, break it by entering the room and facing bloody murder at the hand of Harry or staying to watch a little longer as they shared an intimate moment he had no place in, to see what they did next, Jack chose option number four. Number four was called 'Walk back down the corridor and return here with a lot of noise so they'll be warned and can stop whatever they don't want you to see'. If they didn't stop, Jack could assume they didn't mind him seeing, or that Harry was planning to murder him anyway, the latter being slightly more likely.

It would have given him an excuse to ask a few questions. He didn't get it in the end, because Harry walked out of the infirmary just after Jack decided he'd walked back far enough and turned around again, trying to figure out which song to whistle. (He considered _I Lost My Heart to a Starship Trooper_, but on second thought it seemed more than a little inappropriate.) The Cobscaran didn't give the impression that anything special had happened. Without granting the human more than half a glance he walked down the corridor in the opposite direction.

Well. That made things a lot less awkward.

When Jack entered the infirmary the Doctor was still leaning against the headboard. His head had fallen back and his eyes were closed, and for one moment Jack feared he'd fallen asleep again, or passed out. Disappointment mingled with worry until the Time Lord opened his eyes and greeted him with a weak smile.

Even after a few days the sight of him still came as a shock to Jack. His friend was white as paper, thinner even than he had been before. There were two IV needles stuck in his arm, and his laboured breathing told Jack that it was time to get the oxygen-mask again.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as he carefully slid his arms beneath the Doctor's body and moved him until he was lying flat on his back again. "Are you in pain?"

"No." The Doctor shook his head. "Just tired. Don't worry, I'll be fine." Jack couldn't believe him any more than he'd been able to believe Harry, not matter how much he wanted to. The Time Lord looked simply too ill, too broken.

Maybe Harry had been right, though, and Jack really had forgotten how recovery worked.

"What about you?" the Doctor asked. "How are you? You're looking much better than before."

"I am," Jack assured him. "I was just terribly exhausted for a few days."

The Doctor nodded. "You felt drained." It wasn't a question. "Hardly a surprise, after Harry took your life-force away to put it into me."

There was nothing in his voice that told Jack to feel ashamed –  the guilt came without reason. "He told you?"

"He didn't need to."

"It's all right, though, isn't it?" Jack asked, suddenly anxious. "We helped you."

The Doctor tried another smile, as weak as the former.

"Without you I'd be dead." The addition of "Thank you" came after a second's hesitation.

He looked incredibly tired. It seemed unfair, somehow, that he'd wasted all his energy on cuddling Harry when there were so many things Jack needed to ask him.

 "Doctor…" The human didn't quite know how to word his question. He didn't want to sound like he cared too much, because he wasn't sure if he did. "Since we used my life-force to save you, am I still immortal now? Or has it been reduced to normal again, so I'm going to age and stay dead like any other person?" He gave the other as much as a grin as he could muster and added, "I'd know a way to test it, but if it's really been taken from me I won't be able to clean the mess I'm going to make on my own."

Using his last remaining strength, the Doctor rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. "I don't know."

Jack, who'd expected an unmistakeable _Yes_ or _No_, frowned in surprise. "How can you not? You have to sense it! Just tell me if I still feel wrong to you."

The Time Lord curled up, drawing his knees to his chest, his arms close to his body. "I can't feel you anymore, Jack," he explained, his voice an exhausted whisper. "I'm sorry. It's all inside me now, and it's drowning out everything else."

For a second, Jack didn't know what to say. Another second later he still didn't, because he wasn't sure what this meant. He only knew that he didn't like it. His hand took hold of the Doctor's without him deciding to move it, and the Time Lord didn't flinch.

If it had been hard for him to bear Jack's presence, overstuffed with life-force, how did it feel now that energy had been transferred to him? Jack didn't want to ask. He did so anyway, and got no answer. After a minute he took the oxygen mask and put it back over his friend's face, before taking his hand again.

The Doctor had spoken without bitterness. He'd not appeared to be bothered too much, just tired. Obviously he didn't want Jack to worry, which led Jack to the conclusion that no matter how hopeless his Time Lord's state had been before, they'd probably made it worse.

The only positive effect he could see in this very moment was, that now he could touch the Doctor without having to fear that his presence would disturb his dreams.

With a sad sigh Jack tenderly ran his fingers though the other's hair, before trailing them down his forehead, his cheek, along the line of his yaw.

He'd meant to ask the Doctor if Harry had spoken the truth, if it really had been his fault that he was so badly off now. The opportunity had been missed, but judging from the way the Doctor treated him he didn't blame Jack for anything.

He wouldn't ask all the questions he needed answers for before the Time Lord was strong enough for a lengthy discussion. Even if it was killing him.

What he wanted to know most right now only Harry could answer him, anyway: Had he known what saving the Doctor this way would do to the man they both cared for so much?

And if that was the case, did he care?

It was about time the two of them had a lengthy discussion as well.

After pressing a soft kiss to the Doctor's knuckles, Jack let go of his hand and walked away, to look for Harry.

- tbc

October 1, 2008


	5. Chapter 5

The TARDIS was large enough to get lost in her if one really wanted to, and often enough when one didn't. Even the Doctor had been known to run through her corridors for ages when she'd shifted the rooms without warning or he'd been too deep in thought to pay attention to where he was going. Theoretically a Time Lord could walk until he died of a very hypothetical old age and never reach the very hypothetical end of the pocket universe contained inside the time capsules, but so far this one had always returned her passengers to the better known parts after a while. The Master had never heard of someone who'd entered a TARDIS and never came out. But then this was exactly the kind of thing the Time Lords would keep secret if it ever happened.

All type 40 TARDISes had been known for their erratic navigation and errors in their chameleon circuits. The Master didn't know if sudden and unpredictable internal behaviour was also on the long list of things that had led to this type being called back and dismantled when he was still a child, or if it was just this particular model that enjoyed getting people lost, among everything else. He'd often speculated that she might be doing it on purpose, but most of the time said purpose remained a mystery to him.

Right now he wasn't lost. He'd have liked to be, though. After leaving the Doctor he'd been wandering through the corridors for hours, not with the intention of not knowing where he was, but with every intention of being on his own. Given the TARDIS's internal nature it shouldn't have been much of difficult goal to accomplish.

Or so he'd thought.

There was a garden inside the ship. It was large, and every time the Master had seen it during his life it had looked different. Once it looked like a park that wouldn't seem displaced surrounding a European castle, once it looked like a jungle. This time it reminded him of a European park that had been neglected for so long it became a jungle. The Master followed the remains of cobbled paths to the other side, and found the pool. Or _a_ pool anyway. He wasn't sure he had seen this one ever before.

The Time Lord didn't linger there. After the pool more corridors, and he wasn't sure he'd ever walked them before. In any case he was far, far away from the infirmary, Jack or anything remotely living, save for the TARDIS itself. When he came across a staircase he walked down and ended up in a room with a stone floor, a fireplace that looked like it had recently been used and a number of heavy furniture, all covered in white sheets. He pulled the cover away from a large plush chair that looked like something the Doctor might have liked a few lifetimes back and sat down with a sigh.

It occurred to him that he was hungry. This insufficient mortal body he'd stolen required more food than his original body had, and more sleep as well. Since it seemed unlikely that the TARDIS had helpfully placed a kitchen right next door, the Master decided that he could bear the hunger and closed his eyes to lean back and think of nothing.

For a while he did so. All thoughts of the Doctor, his own sense of claustrophobia, and his anger at his fellow Time Lord in particular and the universe in general were banned from his mind while the Master relaxed in this cool, dark, distant, room and slowly began to nod off.

Eventually he was shaken from his light dozing, reluctantly leaving the cosy darkness he had pulled around himself, distracted by the cold steel pressed against the side of his head.

Smart as he was he didn't open his eyes until after he was done rolling them. For a moment he considered pretending to be shocked, or frightened, but it seemed like so much wasted breath.

"Hello, Jack," he said without turning his head. "What can I do for you today?"

How the hell had the guy found him anyway? The Master really hoped the TARDIS hadn't helped him. Otherwise the ship going to wish she never had the next time he stole her.

"Oh, I just want to talk," Jack answered with false cheer. "Get to know you a little better and all that."

The Master nodded. "And if I'm deciding to ignore you and get back to sleep you'll blow my brains out, I suppose?"

"Quite right."

The Master considered this. "I think I'll go back to sleep anyway. Right now I have little interest in talking to you."

"Then I'll shoot you," Jack promised calmly, causing the other to shake his head.

"As a matter of fact, you won't."

The pressure of the barrel against his temple increased. "You want to gamble your life on it?"

"I don't need to." With a sigh of patient suffering the Master finally did the human the favour of turning around to face him. Jack looked annoyed. And angry. "I know you. And I know the Doctor. You will not kill me – not because I'm unarmed and harmless, but because you don't want to lose his respect." He snorted. "Wherever that comes from."

"Probably from me being a better person than you are," Jack suggested, still not lowering the gun. It was now no longer touching the Master but remained aimed at his face. "If he knows you longer than me he had the chance to compare."

"Ah." The Master crocked his head, looking at Jack with interest. "And how, exactly, are you better than me? Because in the time we've known each other all I've done was saving the Doctor's life. I don't see how that counts as a crime." He thought of getting out of his armchair to get on one level with the other man, decided it was too warm and cosy to leave just for effect. "The simple fact that you dislike someone doesn't make them evil, Harkness. You're not that much of a personality detector."

"You're forgetting the time we spend together before," Jack reminded him, as if that was necessary. "The time I've forgotten. You must have made an impression on me bad enough to instantly dislike you when we met again."

"I made a bad impression?" With effort the Master brought a disbelieving expression to his face, in place of the delightful grin that wanted to spread. "You can't even remember any of it yet you assume I did something wrong on the ground of you not liking me? Do excuse me, but you are hardly in a position to complain." He'd been waiting for an excuse to say this for days now. "After all, I was not the one who raped the Doctor."

The barrel of the gun dropped only a centimetre. Jack's expression darkened for a second but the shock wouldn't manifest, and his voice wasn't shaking when he said, "You're lying." Spoken with conviction. The Master suppressed the urge to smirk.

"How would you know?" he asked. "You can't remember."

"I know," Jack said, "because I would never, ever do that! I was not the most honourable person in the cosmos, I readily admit that, but I know very well that there is a line I would never have crossed."

The Master took a step forward, until the gun pressed against his chest. "You sound so certain. And yet I was there. I saw it. He begged you to stop, Harkness – but you didn't. You _hurt_ him, without…"

"I have no idea what you are trying to accomplish here," Jack interrupted him, "but it's not working. I know you are lying, and even if you'd have proof for your accusation I'd still not believe you! I'm rather beginning to believe that you're trying to cover some crime of your own here, and that the Doctor, and everyone, would be better off if I pulled this trigger." His eyes were burning. "Because I know what I am capable of, and what not!"

"But what if you're wrong?" The Master's voice was calm, low. "Will you add murder to the list of your crimes?"

"Gladly." The finger on the trigger moved, and despite his certainty the Master began to wonder if he'd pushed the human too far. Nothing of this was reflected in his voice, however, when he said, "Did the people who erased your memories leave you the time you spend with your sociopathic partner in that time loop?" Now the gun dropped notably and confused suspicion joined the fury in Jack's eyes. "You knew what he did when he felt like it. Rape, torture, murder – and you never cared. Just turned your back and pretended it was none of your business. But then, you've been quite the skilled torturer yourself, weren't you?" He snarled at all this hypocrisy and it wasn't even an act. "So how can you be so sure?"

"That was different." Oh, look! He sounded all defensive now. "I'm not proud of the man I once was, but I never agreed with what John was doing."

"And still you did nothing to stop him. It's just a small step from watching to doing it yourself."

"You would know, wouldn't you?" Jack hissed. "How do you know about all this?"

"You told me," the Master lied. He'd pulled the information from 'Bill's' mind when they had copulated in the human's bedroom. At the same time when he'd planted the hypnotic orders in his brain that would soon lead to the time agent taking advantage of the Doctor's weakness.

Repeatedly. It hadn't been planned that way and the way he had lost control over his puppet still irked the Master. Now was payback time. "You're talkative in bed," he added.

"No," Jack said darkly. "I'm not."

The Master refused to acknowledge his words. "I often wondered," he mused. "Maybe you erased your memories yourself because you couldn't live with the guilt. It's worth a thought, isn't it?"

"I did _not_ hurt him!" Jack said with force, his patience wearing thin.

"You were a time agent! You suspected us of being criminals, while lusting after the Doctor every step of the way. Tell me honestly, Captain, how sure can you be?"

"Absolutely." There was no doubt in his eyes, just bottomless anger. It would come, though. The Master knew it. As soon as the human had time to calm down the words would keep running though his head. And he'd begin to suspect…

It was delicious, really. A delight to do something other than worry about the Doctor, and taking revenge at the same time. The best part was that it was all true, from a certain point of view. The Master smiled coldly.

"I can prove it," he revealed.

Jack froze for the span of one second. Then his finger tightened around the trigger again.

"I'm not interested."

"Yes, I know, you're not believing me – but it'll give you something to think about. If you're so sure, why not have a look? Indulge me."

"Like hell!" Jack's hand was shaking ever so slightly. The Master could feel it, through the gun now pressed to his forehead. "I don't know what game you are playing, but you're not going to win it."

The Master was quite convinced of the contrary. Still, winning would lose much of its triumph if Jack did indeed kill him after all. He had to prevent that from happening, somehow.

"Last wish of a condemned man?" he tried. "Just so I know you will one day realise that you have killed me without reason. I'm quite interested what you are going to tell the Doctor anyway."

"You slipped and fell down the stairs." Jack's answer came without hesitation.

The Master grimaced. "Into a bullet?"

"It happens." Jack seemed to consider a moment, his eyes fixed on the gun in his hand. Then he lowered it – just to bring it up one second later and smash the hilt into the Master's face. The Time Lord saw the punch coming a quarter of a second too late. He managed to throw himself backwards and take the worst force out of the impact, but not to avoid it completely.

"Jack!"

Even as he stumbled backwards, his head ringing, the Master heard the breathless voice calling out. Through the dark spots dancing in front of him he could make out Jack turning around sharply, shock and guilt written all over his face, and the Doctor, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

The next second the Master was too busy not falling inelegantly on his backside to pay attention. When he regained his orientation Jack was crouching beside the Doctor, who had fallen to is knees but angrily pushed the human away when he tried to help.

"What the hell is going on here?" he asked hoarsely. He was glaring at the Master as he spoke, and the Master decided that both he and Jack were equally uninterested in the Doctor finding out about the topic of their conversation.

"He was being an ass," Jack explained. "It was either punch or shoot him."

"How did you find us?" the Master interrupted the Doctor's angry reply before he could get out even the first word.

"I followed your voices."

The Master raised his eyebrows. "Did you hear what we were talking about?"

"No. But I don't need to, do I?" The look the Doctor gave him told the Master that had did indeed have a very good idea. He shouldn't have been surprised – the Doctor knew him, after all.

He struggled for air, fell forward onto his hands and retched dryly. It distracted Jack from thinking about his words.

"Why did you come here?" the human asked, concern and annoyance in his voice. "You should have stayed in bed!"

The Doctor looked blankly at him through bangs of damp hair. "You were fighting," he said, as if that was a reason.

"How could you even hear us? We're miles away from the infirmary."

The Master groaned at Jack's words. How he could have travelled with the Doctor before and not noticed that her internal dimensions weren't quite the same all the time was beyond him.

"Don't answer that," the human added quickly, apparently having noticed he'd said something stupid.

"I suppose the TARDIS wanted you to hear it," the Master mused. "She likes me, after all. Wanted you to come and save me from being unjustly robbed of my precious life by this brute!"

"That's enough!" The Doctor glared at him. "I have little doubt who started this." He doubled over again.

"Quite right. Even if I had indeed been planning to kill him, saving his sorry ass was hardly worth getting out of bed for." Rolling his eyes, the Master only waited for Jack to stick out his tongue at him. To his credit he didn't. It was better this way, as one second later the Doctor told him to shut up.

"If you're quite done here, I'd like to get back up," he said shakily. "It's chilly down here. Jack, if you could help me up the stairs..." The Master recognized his asking for help for that it was: An attempt to get Jack away from him, and probably the human did as well. He didn't protest, though, but wordlessly helped the Doctor to his feet. He really wouldn't be able to get up the stairs without help. The Master had thought the other Time Lord to be still too weak to get out of bed – seeing him here was a surprise. But he was leaning heavily against Jack, shaking with exhaustion and pain. Through the open shirt of his pyjama the Master saw the bandages still wrapped firmly around his chest.

The last thing he saw of them before Jack gently led his friend out of the room was the Doctor's silent glare, telling him to stay the hell down here until they were well out of sight.

-

The stairs leading back to the main corridor were long – though not as long as Jack remembered them – and they had to pause twice for the Doctor to catch his breath. Yet he refused to let Jack carry him. The human suspected that he was still somewhat pissed.

A part of him wanted nothing more than to tell him of Harry's accusations, so the Doctor could confirm that nothing of it was true.

But what if Harry had spoken the truth? Jack wasn't sure he could bear that.

And it wasn't like the Doctor was likely going to tell him if he'd really hurt him.

"I told you to stay away from him," the Time Lord said darkly once they had reached the end of the stairs. Well, whispered. Croaked. "He's trying to provoke you, and you're not making him work very hard for it!"

"Care to tell me why?" Some of the anger at Harry got redirected at the man in his arms. "What happened between us when we met before?"

The Doctor shrugged. "You didn't get along very well. There was nothing else to it, really."

He wasn't very good at lying.

"Could we try it with a little honesty, please? It's no surprise I'm losing this game if no one tells me the rules. I'd expected better from you, Doctor."

The Doctor said nothing, apparently too preoccupied with breathing to react to his words.

"I'm a grown man, whatever it is, I can take it," Jack wasn't entirely sure he was speaking the truth himself, now. After a second of hesitation he added, "Harry said it was my fault you're this ill."

"That's not true." Somewhere the Doctor found the strength to snort. "I was injured when the building I was in collapsed and never really recovered from it. You had nothing to do with it. We met you much later."

"He mentioned that, yes. Actually he said there was a chance to help you and I ruined it."

Jack's stomach sank when the Doctor didn't answer right away.

"I asked you to ruin it," he finally said. "It might have worked, but it would have cost thousands of lives. Harry…" The Doctor stopped, shook his head. "I didn't get a chance to thank you before we left," he then said. "Thanks, Jack."

The words 'You're welcome' wouldn't quite come over the human's tongue.

"Am I going to get the whole story, or do I have to wait until Harry tells me?" he asked after a moment.

"Harry won't tell you. At… least not all of it. He'll pick out bits and pieces, out of… context to make you look bad. Keep that in mind… when you… next speak to him…" Jack looked at the Doctor in alarm. His voice had become halting, even more breathless than before. He'd reached his limit.

They were still standing beside the stairs, but Jack could see the door to the infirmary not five metres away. He'd already suspected that for the Doctor the way had been a bit shorter.

"Let's get you back to bed," he said, reluctantly letting go of his chance to actually get some useful information. Already he felt guilty that they had lured the Time Lord out of bed at all.

"Not there," his friend said weakly, but with determination when Jack wrapped his arm around him again to gently move him toward the door. "I'd much prefer my own bed."

"I don't think…"

"Then don't!" the Doctor snapped unexpectedly. "I'm sick of that room! I need some normalcy around me, walls that don't constantly remind me of what a wreck I've become. So if you don't 'think', I'll get there on my own." He pushed away from Jack, swayed and would have fallen if not for the strong arms reaching for him.

"As you wish." It didn't feel right to Jack, but he thought he could understand what the Doctor was going through. With little effort he lifted the man off the ground. "I'll take you there," he said quickly, to silence all oncoming protests, "if you let me carry you."

The Doctor sighed tiredly and gave up. "Go ahead, then," he allowed him generously.

Secretly Jack hoped that the TARDIS would continue to show some initiative and make the Doctor's room impossible to find, but it waited for them right behind the next corner.

The carpet on the floor always came as a shock to Jack after the grates they were walking on almost everywhere else. Sure, there were different kinds of floors – in the garden, the living room, the kitchen, Jack's own room – but somehow he always expected the Doctor's personal realm to be pretty much like the rest of the ship.

The bed was broad and low. It offered room for two, or even three, yet Jack wasn't in the mood to point this out.

Silently he promised himself to get the oxygen machine over here should his friend's breathing get any more laboured.

The covers were already pulled back, as if the bed had been waiting for the Time Lord all along. Jack laid him down, for the first time really registering the fact that the Doctor had been running through the ship on bare feet.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, not expecting a positive answer.

"Yes," the Doctor answered to his surprise. "Please stay away from Harry. Don't let him get to you. Whatever he says, ignore him." He took a short break to catch his breath. "Are we still on Earth?" he asked. "If so you should leave. The two of you… I don't have the strength to keep you from killing each other right now. I just don't."

The last words were underlined with subdued desperation, and Jack found himself promising, "Don't worry about us. We'll behave." He'd just stay away from Harry to resist the urge to kill.

Already he knew it wouldn't work.

The Doctor sighed quietly, closing his eyes.

"I don't understand why he's here," Jack couldn't stop himself from saying. "He's hardly like the kind of people you usually travel with. He's a bastard, and I don't trust him. It would be best to bring him back where you fond him. Kick him out and lock the door. Tell me, Doctor," He took his friend's hand. "How much of this is actually his fault?"

"Nothing," the Doctor mumbled at once. "He didn't hurt me."

"He seems like the kind of guy who'd enjoy it," Jack voiced his doubts. "That building you were in didn't happen to have collapsed because he blew it up, did it?" He wasn't joking in the least. It caused the Doctor open his eyes. The look Jack received was tired and strangely measuring.

"No. It was my fault. I happened to destroy the entire planet."

It felt like a punch in the face. "Doctor…"

"Harry told you the building fell on me," the Doctor continued. "Did he also tell you that I only survived because he almost sacrificed his life to protect me?"

Jack didn't know what to say to that. It came as a complete surprise.

"No." The Doctor closed his eyes again, indicating that this conversation was over. "I didn't think he would."

His words lingered in Jack's mind when he was walking down the corridor minutes later. What also lingered were Harry's accusations. Jack knew it couldn't be, but what he had said had, in a perverted, twisted way, made sense. Jack hadn't known the Doctor back then but as a suspect of crimes against the laws of time travel. And while he had never participated in it he had to admit to his shame that he also never tried very hard to stop 'John Hart' from acting out his perverted desires. He didn't like the man he had once been.

Still, he knew that he'd never have forced himself on anyone, not even then. Least of all someone like the Doctor.

And yet…

_'Don't believe him,'_ the Time Lord whispered in his memory. _'He's lying.'_

He'd woken up, and the first thing he'd told Jack was not to believe what Harry would tell him. As if he'd known what it would be.

Ironically the Doctor's words had the opposite effect now. For how could he have known it if there wasn't a hint of truth to it?

Shaking his head, Jack tried to convince himself that he was finding connections where there were none. The Doctor could have spoken about anything. He knew Harry would try to hurt Jack – maybe his words hadn't been related to anything special.

Try as he might, the human couldn't shake off the lingering doubt, not entirely. The worst part was that he was sure Harry had been counting on this. He'd planted a seed and now all he had to do was lean back and watch it grow.

It stirred up Jack's determination to forget about it. Forcing his thoughts to go elsewhere and start worrying for his team for a change, Jack made his way to his own room, deciding to stay true to his promise and avoid Harry as much as possible.

Maybe locking his room would have been a good idea, then.

Harry wasn't there when Jack entered, but he had been. There was an envelope waiting for him on the bed, his name written on it in neat letters. No one but Harry could have left it here. Jack stared at it in contempt for several minutes, knowing it would be best if he didn't even touch it.

When he finally picked it up he found that there was no letter inside. Instead of a sheet of paper something small and hard moved under his finger. He shouldn't open it to see what it was.

In the end he did.

He shouldn't have.

- tbc

October 27, 2008


	6. Chapter 6

_The image was black and white, showing the room from an angle associated with twentieth century security surveillance, but the quality of the images was too sharp. No disturbances, no grains. No sound. On the silent screen the Doctor was lying in bed, sprawled between crumbled sheets. He was dressed in a pyjama, his hair was a mess, and while he was facing away from the camera it was obvious by his stillness that he was sleeping._

_Nothing moved on the screen. It could have been a single picture instead of a movie, until after half a minute the door opened, throwing light and a shadow into the room and onto the still figure on the bed. The shadow was followed by Jack – younger Jack, moving with calm determination. He sat on the bed, beside the Doctor, and without preamble threw the blanket to the floor and began to pull off the Time Lord's trousers. The touch disturbed the Doctor's sleep, and on the screen he could be seen trying to move away with weak, uncoordinated movements, clearly not truly awake. Jack grabbed him and – not ungentle but with a distinct carelessness – pulled him close and onto his back. He moved over him, and the flow of images stopped._

His memory of that night was scrambled and confused, but he knew how things developed further. The remote control slipped from the Doctor's fingers and cluttered on the floor, and then he buried his face in his trembling hands and murmured, "Oh, Jack."

-

Sitting in Jack's empty room, on the edge of his empty bed, the Doctor had no idea where his human friend was. He didn't know where the Master was either, but he knew that if they met now there was no guarantee they'd both walk away from it. He also knew that he should find them, keep them off each other's throats, but his body wouldn't move.

He had woken up not long after Jack had brought him to his room, exhausted and tired and in pain but unable to go back to sleep. It had been his stomach that made him get up in the end – unwilling to soil his room he'd stumbled to the bathroom to throw up, and when he'd left it he'd seen that the door right next to his room was open. It led to Jack's room. Jack's room wasn't usually next to his.

The old-fashioned tv-screen was running, showing static. The Doctor had discovered that the the not so old-fashioned tool for the reading of data crystals was filled with one, and turned it on. Even after one second he knew that the Master must have given this to Jack.

He should have seen it coming, he cursed himself tiredly. Eventually the Master had to do something like this and let Jack know what had happened between them. The Doctor had known he'd tell, but was surprised that the other Time Lord had actual proof. A camera in his bedroom. His stomach turned again. The Master had planned for an opportunity like this, it seemed. All along. Just in case it would come in handy one day.

Sometimes he forgot, unbelievable as it was, how very perverted his old friend's mind could be.

It was hard to imagine how Jack had reacted to this revelation. The Doctor hoped that he would doubt the pictures, have enough trust in himself to know he'd never willingly do this. But if he did that, the Master would be the person he'd blame. The person he'd demand answers from. The Doctor really had to get up and find him.

To stop him from killing the Master, or getting killed by the Master, or simply to tell him that it hadn't been his fault. He didn't know if that would help. If the Doctor had been in Jack's position it probably wouldn't have. He'd never wanted his friend to find out, ever.

Right now, he felt like he was sitting on a bomb, waiting for it to explode. And still his body wouldn't move.

-

The Master was waiting for Jack to explode as well. He would have liked to be with him when the human watched the movie on the data crystal and see his reaction, but it would have ruined the effect. Besides, he suspected that the freak would have refused to watch it in his presence, just to deny him the satisfaction. Left alone he would give in to his curiosity eventually. He had no other choice.

The Master smiled. Humans were so wonderfully predictable.

Of course he could only speculate on Jack's reaction. Would he decide, for the sake of his sanity, that the movie was a fake? Would he suspect that it had somehow all been 'Harry's' fault? Would he accept his crime and deal with the guilt by blaming Harry instead? The Master was aware that the conclusion to a lot of scenarios was Jack storming up to him with a gun in his hand, and shooting him. Theoretically. Practically the Master had stolen his gun when he'd turned his back to care for the Doctor earlier. Humans: Predictable and easily distracted.

It wouldn't stop Jack from killing him with another weapon. Provided he got close enough.

Another possibility would have Jack, overwhelmed by guilt, killing himself. He'd have to use a rope then. Or drown himself in the pool. The Master had little hope (it would have been a bit silly, even for Jack), but who knew? Maybe it would even work.

Whatever his reaction, it would be big. It seemed unlikely that the freak would just sit down on his bed and think, 'Huh.'

Perhaps he would go to the Doctor, ask him about it. And probably get a bit of comfort out of that, while putting extra strain on the Time Lord and making him even more angry at the Master. The Master realised that he didn't like this scenario very much, even though he didn't mind the Doctor being angry at him. After all he had given the crystal to Jack for three reasons: Because he wanted to hurt Jack, because he thought it would be fun, and because he wanted the Doctor to know that despite the circumstances keeping him by his side and away from his plans for universal domination, he was not his pet.

Nor his wife, or nurse. Not even his friend.

Thinking it over it seemed logical that sooner or later Jack _would_ come to the Doctor. To get an explanation, forgiveness, comfort, whatever. He might think twice about it if the Master was already there. Which would only work if it wasn't already too late. Hours had passed since they'd parted ways, after all – Jack could have done a lot since then. The one thing the Master knew for certain was that he hadn't been trying to find him.

Either that, or the TARDIS had made sure he didn't. The Doctor didn't want them to fight, so perhaps the ship would help keeping them apart if murderous intentions were involved. The Master wasn't sure she would do that – the TARDISes he had owned never had been very sensitive to his needs, but then his relationship to them had never been this… sappy.

He went looking for the Doctor in the infirmary, half expecting Jack to be there with him, but found it deserted. Frowning, he went on a hunt for the Doctor's room, finding it in its usual position. The bed was empty, but the covers and pillows crumbled. The question remained where the Doctor had gone off to. The Master had a very good guess when he noted Jack's room right next door.

He found the Doctor sitting on the bed, staring sightlessly at the screen. He didn't need to look to know what he'd been watching but did so anyway.

"You've stopped before the good part," he commented, stepping into the room. "Why don't we snuggle up on the freak's bed and watch the rest of the movie together?"

To his disappointment the Doctor didn't flinch at his voice, not did he snap at him or have an angry fit. He didn't jump up to have a go at him and fall miserably to the floor. He just sat there. And then, slowly, he turned to look at the Master.

Who nearly froze on his way over to the bed. The Doctor's gaze was more tired than angry, more resigned than disappointed, but there was a coldness inside that held no memories of better days. He had used the Doctor to hurt the Doctor's friend, and that was not something to be tolerated. He was pushing too far. The Master felt the icy gaze of someone regarding an enemy and shivered.

It felt good. Felt right. He was playing with fire.

Slowly, the Doctor stood. "I have to find Jack." Even his voice was clam, collected. There wasn't even accusation it in, just this simple statement.

"I've been expecting a lecture," the Master said, watching the Doctor take a careful step toward him – no. Toward the door. The Master was merely standing in the way.

"Yes." The Doctor didn't look at him. The Master's face darkened.

"I doubt he wants to see you, for once," he tried. "Otherwise he'd have found you already."

The Doctor kept walking, kept ignoring him. His steps were steady, if slow, but the Master could see the effort behind them, the concentration it needed for the Doctor not to fall over.

"How are you going to find him anyway?" he asked, trying to make the Doctor see reason, return to bed, stay here and have an argument. Suddenly he realised just how much he didn't want the two on them to meet. He should have killed Jack before the Doctor regained consciousness in the first place, and if that hadn't worked he should have kicked him out of the TARDIS for good. "Are you just going to run through the ship until you collapse? That won't be long, then." He shoved the Doctor as he passed, without much force but hard enough to make him stumble. Still the other Time Lord would not look at him. He kept going, burning up his strength. Wasting it.

For the wrong reasons.

"You're doing it wrong. After what he's done to you, you're out to comfort him? However did you manage to survive this long?" The Master paused a second, for effect. "Oh, right – because you're a killer when it suits you. Is that why you do it? Because you'd like someone to comfort you as well, in spite of your crimes?"

The Doctor turned, finally provoked into a response. Cold eyes burned into the Master's while he completely ignored the more important part of his statement.

"This is not about what he did to me but about what you did to him," he spat. "You keep playing your games, and act like a spoiled child when the outcome is not…"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, because the Master calmly walked up to him and punched him in the face. The Doctor was thrown back, fell to the floor and lay there for a moment, dazed. Eventually he turned to his side, pushed himself up but failed when it came to getting to his feet. The Master had expected as much. He kicked the other in the back, made him crash to the floor again. It was a cheap demonstration of power, almost like cheating. But as long as the Doctor refused to properly acknowledge his presence, he would take what he could get.

He continued to kick his best enemy down every time he tried to get up, until the Doctor stopped trying and stayed on the floor, breathing hard. Still so weak. The Master was smirking when he picked him up.

Jack's bed was in a state of perfect order, the sheets clean and fresh, no doubt the TARDIS's doing. They got crumbled when the Master threw his fellow Time Lord onto the covers. The Doctor offered no resistance, was hardly even conscious anymore. Stressed, fevered, probably in pain… the Master smiled coldly and pinned him down with one hand, letting the other trail down his side. The Doctor shuddered under his touch.

"What do you think about me fucking you on dear Jack's bed?" the Master mused. "No, don't answer that: What do you think Jack would think if he came back here and found me fucking you on his bed, while he was off somewhere sulking?" He leaned down so he felt the Doctor's strangled breath on his face, and chuckled. "He'd probably try to kill me – again. Are you up to stopping him? I don't think so. On the other hand… perhaps he'd feel inclined to join us. With him you never know."

The Doctor's dark eyes became even darker, and for a second he managed to focus his gaze. He refused to say anything, though. Maybe he was simply lacking the breath for it.

Another second later his eyes became glassy and closed. The Master snorted softly and pressed a kiss to his lips that got no response. Slightly disappointed he tugged the Doctor under the covers and left him to sleep.

-

The Doctor's head hurt. It was the first thing he realised as he slowly came awake. The room was spinning around him even before he opened his eyes, and this time it wasn't just the wrongness of his being. He felt miserable on a very physical level; it didn't distract him from the sickening feeling of his existence but added to it. With effort he turned onto his side and retched. After a moment he remembered that he was in Jack's room, and felt idiotically relived that he had nothing in this stomach to throw up. Wouldn't want to mess with someone else's room.

It occurred to him that the TARDIS could clean it up. Gasping for air he tried to regain some hold on his own thoughts.

Rassilon, he was feeling terrible! Of the brief flicker of strength that had enabled him to leave the bed before nothing was left. He might have been able to preserve it, gather more strength if he'd stayed in bed and simply concentrated on recovering, but instead he had to run around stopping his idiotic, childish companions from killing each other.

The thought brought along memories, reminding him why he was lying in Jack's bed and not his own. He jolted upright as he remembered that he needed to find Jack, and soon. Almost the same moment he fell back onto the covers, nausea washing over him. He couldn't move – it was simply impossible. With every breath he felt worse. His insides were throbbing with pain, out of rhythm with the pain in his head.

The thought of Jack didn't allow him to rest. He was, right now, most likely hurt, confused, and filled with murderous fury. The Doctor had to find him, tell him it wasn't his fault, tell him not to kill the Master. Would that work? Why wasn't it Jack's fault? He'd want to know that, and what would the Doctor tell him then? If he found out 'Harry' had mentally controlled him, he'd want to kill him even more.

No time to think of that. First of all he had to get moving again. The Doctor closed his eyes and with a lot of effort gathered his energy.

-

A good five hours after he'd finished watching the surveillance movie the man he was very sure was not named Harry had send him, Jack Harkness wasn't thinking very much. He wasn't feeling very much either. He was just numb. Deep inside he was aching, and feeling very much like screaming and tearing his hair and, yes, killing someone (possibly himself), but those feeling were hidden under the surface for the time being, and on the surface he was just lost. In more than one way.

He'd fled his room and the presence of the horrible data crystal blindly, wandered through the TRADIS without aim, and now he was aware that he had no idea where he was. He didn't care much anyway, since right now there was nowhere he wanted to go.

A part of him (perhaps the part that had made him wander blindly through unknown corridors instead of grabbing his gun and putting a hole into Harry's head) had decided no to do anything before he was able to think straight again and was aware what exactly he was feeling.

The much larger part of his being was quite simply frozen with shock. Disgust even. Seeing a younger him forcing himself on an obviously ill and defenceless man, blind to everything but his own desire, including Harry storming up to him to knock him out… there was so much wrong with the scene that he had a hard time taking it for face value. But he had seen it, and so he was unable to completely deny its existence. It could be a fake, created by a bored sociopath. Or it could be genuine.

His subconscious was pleading guilty until proven innocent and horrified at himself beneath the deep layer of numb indecision that had made him sit down on the first available soft surface and stare into the air. His hands were trembling. He felt like crying, or loosing his mind, but couldn't yet think enough to decide if that would be appropriate. He kept staring instead. It was cold.

He needed to talk to the Doctor. The Time Lord knew what was going on, he'd make him understand, and somehow he would make everything better. At this point Jack laughed. The Doctor would want him to stay calm and not kill anyone. He'd lie to him. And even if he didn't, this was not something Jack wanted to bother him with. He didn't deserve to be raped and then asked for comfort.

He was the only one who could tell him anything resembling the truth. The only one here Jack trusted.

Jack didn't want to see him, he decided. He didn't know what he would do. Perhaps he should never mention it to the Doctor. Don't bring it up.

He turned his head, just slightly, focusing his attention just a little bit on the direction where he thought that he had, possibly, seen a movement out of the corner of his eye. Half a minute ago.

The room was dimly lit, looking, smelling and feeling abandoned, like it hadn't been entered in a very long time. It was a room like his – same layout, a bed, a closet, the remains of personal belongings scattered on a wooden desk. The books and tools meant nothing to Jack. Someone had lived here once, but not anymore.

The Doctor was standing in the doorway. He was wearing his coat over his pyjama and in the weak light he almost looked healthy.

He came over when Jack looked at him, and Jack looked down again, unsure what to say. The Doctor knew, then. He wasn't even surprised.

"Is it true?" he heard himself ask. "Did I really do that?" Hoping desperately for a negative answer and the ability to believe it.

"Yes," the Doctor said. "I'm sorry."

When Jack sank down to bury his face in his hands, he almost whimpered.

Long fingers took hold of his wrists. "It wasn't your fault," the Doctor told him. "You had no control over what you were doing."

"Does it make any difference?" Jack asked bitterly.

"Of course it does, you big ape," the Doctor said gently. "It means that while you did it you didn't actually do it. And now look at me." He pulled the human's hands away from his face, and then a gentle hand under his chin forced him to look up. Warm brown eyes full of sadness looked into his. "It wasn't your fault," the Doctor said again, slowly, and Jack had no choice but to believe him.

His hands wrapped around the Time Lords slim waist and pulled him close, until he was sitting on Jack's lap. He needed the closeness now, and as he pressed his face against his friend's closed coat, he could hear a single heart beating strongly inside his chest. The Doctor wasn't trembling any longer, and didn't seem to be in pain. Jack wasn't yet ready to marvel on that (nor on the new bruise he'd seen on his cheek).

"It was Harry." A statement, not a question. His voice was muffled by the Doctor's coat. "He did this to me. To us."

There was a long pause. Eventually the Doctor said, "Yes."

"But how? Why?" Jack pulled his face back a bit, so he could breathe and speak a little louder. "What's the point? Why did he hurt you if you're so important to him? I can't believe he'd endanger your life just to hurt me."

"It wasn't just about you." The Doctor sounded hesitant, unsure what to say, how much to tell. "It's… complicated. This need to attack you, it's nothing personal. He just hates your existence."  
"Oh, right. That's not personal at all."

"Jack. It's…" The Doctor seemed to get a bit heavier in Jack's arms. Despite his inner turmoil the human began to gently rub his back. "I think he feels threatened by you, stupid as it is," the Time Lord continued. "Because you don't die. Because you'll always be there, and he doesn't know how to deal with that."

"This is about you, isn't it?" Jack realised. "He doesn't want to share." When the Doctor didn't answer, he added, "I don't understand it. He's not immortal himself. Why does he even care? What does he have to do with you?"

The Doctor wasn't looking at him. He was looking through Jack, at something far, far away.

"He's the Master," he said.

He spoke the words and Jack wasn't surprised. He thought that he should have been, but somehow he wasn't. It wasn't even so that he had already guessed it, on a subconscious level. It was more like his mind didn't question the information. He acknowledged it, and instinctively tightened his hold on his alien friend, held him closer.

"Jack." The Doctor started what would have been at the same time a plea and an order. "Don't…"

"I know," Jack interrupted him, his voice a little harsher than expected. "I won't." He nearly laughed then, and it would have been bitter. The Doctor had probably just saved the bastard's life, for how could Jack kill him now, the bloody fucking Second Last of the Time Lords sociopathic Master, when he knew all too well what his mere existence meant to the Doctor. He wouldn't get over his death a second time.

"What do I do?" Jack whispered. He couldn't leave the Doctor alone with him, and couldn't bear the Master's presence. "What do I do?"

"Be above him," the Doctor advised softly. "He's just trying to provoke you. Don't let him have his will. Best to avoid him whenever you can. I can't ask you to leave, can I?"

"You'd better not try," Jack growled.

They held onto each other for another minute, until Jack saw something else out of the corner of his eye. This time he looked at once, nearly jumping when he saw Harry – no, when he saw the Master standing in the doorway. He did his best to keep clam, to stay where he was, but the Master wasn't even looking at him. His stare was fixed firmly on the Doctor, his eyes wide and his face drained of colour.

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" he hissed.

In Jack's arms, the Doctor merely sighed.

- tbc

December 12, 2008


	7. Chapter 7

The rage was flaring up inside the Master again as he stormed across the room towards the two other men, but this time it was not directed at Jack. At least not for the main part. Poor, annoying, idiot Jack, who now, seeing him coming closer, pulled the Doctor against his body in a protective gesture and moved him like a crippled dancer, so his own body served as a shield between the two Time Lords. It stopped the Master, who for a second was unsure whether to laugh or commit murder. There was, however, some satisfaction in seeing the Doctor get out of Jack's grip and step away from him, a message that he could handle this alone and didn't need anyone else speaking for him.

Yet.

"Do tell me, are you actually actively trying to kill yourself?" the Master asked. He took one more step towards him, threateningly, and Harkness stepped between them once again.

"Jack," the Doctor said sternly, before softening his voice for the next words. "There is no need."

Jack ignored him; his eyes remained fixed on the Master. "What do you want from him?"

"I want him to stay alive," the Master snarled.

"He looks alive to me. Better than before, no thanks to you."

"Oh, right. And you never wondered why that is, did you? 'Oh, look, he's miraculously fine again, let's have cake!'" The Master's eyes left Jack to fix on the Doctor, standing half hidden from view by Jack's muscular frame, and there was disgust in his voice when he said, "You are doing this to yourself because of him? I can't believe it!"

"No." The Doctor's face could have been made of stone. "I'm doing it because you force me to." He sighed, slumped a little. "We've been through this before. If you want me fine, stop doing things for the sake of hurting me."

"I don't want you fine. I want you alive."

"Right now," the Doctor said slowly, "I can't get much worse, so there is not much room for hurting me without killing. Make up your bloody mind." He sounded tried, wary. And he was right – the Master knew he had to hold back until the Doctor was better. It was Jack who made it impossible.

The Master couldn't even tell for sure if it was just his wrongness that flared up his need to fight him in any way possible, or if his immortality and the fact that he'd never really leave the Doctor made it so impossible to control himself while in the freak's presence. He couldn't tell, because he refused to think about it. He only knew that as long as Jack was near, the Doctor wouldn't be safe, since they would always fight each other and the Doctor would always be caught in the crossfire.

"It would help, really, really help if Jack left us," the Master said calmly, quietly and earnestly. It was a tone he hoped would show the Doctor how serious a request this was – not just a childish declaration of will.

But the Doctor was being childish and stubborn himself. "I'm not going to kick him out, and he's unlikely to leave on his own. So get your priorities straight." He swayed and without warning fell to the floor in a boneless heap.

It came so unexpected that Jack, despite only standing two steps away from him, wasn't fast enough to catch him. The Master, however, had expected it none the less. He'd been waiting for it. The only reason for him to react as late as he did was that he had to make up his mind first and decide if he should bother. When he chose to move it was almost (but only almost, his human body reminded him) faster than was possible for a being bound to the rules of physics. Less than the blink of an eye and the Doctor was in his arms, looking at him in confusion.

"Sorry about that," he mumbled.

"You will be," the Master agreed. He pulled his old friend to his feet, supporting almost all of his weight.

"What's wrong?" Jack asked concerned. The Master wanted to protest when he took hold of the Doctor's other arm and draped it around his shoulder, but kept quiet in the end.

Control. This was all a matter of control. What a joke, if he could control others but not himself.

This was worse than the bloody drums the high council had cursed him with after his resurrection during the war! He didn't even look at Jack, and yet knowing that he was standing there, pressed against the Doctor, his arms wrapped around his waist as if he had any right to touch him made him drift off into a world where he shoved the human down and smashed his head against the floor again and again. It felt very satisfying.

The Doctor brought him back to reality when he gave a gasping cough and started to tremble violently. They needed to hurry up. The Master remembered his rage that had nothing to do with Jack. The Doctor was right: He needed to get his priorities in order.

As if he hadn't done that nineteen lifetimes ago.

"Help me get him to the infirmary," he said to Jack.

-

The Doctor was barely clinging to consciousness when they laid him down onto the bed. Immediately the Master set up the life support unit, causing Jack to frown.

"Is that really necessary?" He seemed worried enough, but naturally he had no idea how much more worried he should be. "He's breathing fine on his own."

"Not for much longer." Already the Doctor's breathing was becoming laboured. His face was covered in sweat and the colour of paper. "It's all right," the Master told him, cupping his face in his hands. "You can let go. We've got you."

The machine took over when the Doctor stopped breathing completely. Quickly, the Master connected him to the other machines, among them a helpful little thing that would nudge his single heart whenever it considered stopping.

"I don't get it," Jack proclaimed what came as no surprise to the Master. "He was getting better. What's wrong with him now?"

The Time Lord was still wondering if he should grace that with an answer when the human gave him an unexpected demonstration primal intelligence. "He did something to himself, didn't he? Used strength he doesn't have."

"Exactly that." The Master's reply came as a sneer, pressed out between clenched teeth. "And just because you had to run off and sulk like a little boy! He's killing himself for you, and I cannot quite fathom why."

"Because you force him to!" Jack hissed back. They weren't as loud as they might have been had the Doctor not been lying between them. As if even as atomic blast could wake him now. "You and your stupid, selfish games! You claim to care for him, but all you do is aiming to hurt him! You never even stop to think of the consequences of your actions!"

"Oh, and you do? What were you thinking, then, running off like that? You could at least have turned off the screen, so he wouldn't suspect anything. 'Oh, poor me, come and comfort me!'" The Master threw up his hands in a gesture of exasperation, rolling his eyes. "You had to know he'd come to find you once he figured out what was going on. Dragging himself through the ship, even if it killed him. I admit I was shocked to see that he'd done that, for _you _of all people, but an ego the size of yours, you can't possibly have even considered he wouldn't."

"Funny you would say that, after you made such an effort to blast my ego into little pieces," Jack snarled, stepping closer threateningly. The Master didn't retreat. "And you are hardly one who has a right to complain – your ego couldn't possibly be any bigger!" He bared his teeth. "I know who you are."

The Master had suspected it. He didn't know what to think of it. Was the Doctor out of his mind? Desperate? Did he want to get back at him? Had he been thinking anything at all?

There was a new rush of anger, but the Master didn't know who it was directed at. He raised his arms, spread them wide. "Go ahead," he dared. "Kill me, then!"

Jack was standing so close to him, there was no chance to move away when his hand shot out and wrapped around the Master's throat. The Time Lord gagged – not for shock but because Jack was effectively cutting off his air. His own hands fell to his sides, refusing to pry the offending fingers away. He didn't struggle, not even when Harkness pulled him close, so close his lips nearly touched the Master's face.

"You have no idea, not the slightest hint of an idea how much I want to!" he hissed. There was pure hatred and delicious fury in his voice, his face, his eyes, and in the force of his movement, as he pushed the Master away, threw him to the floor.

He stormed away after that, going to steam off his anger, probably. The Master sat on the floor, rubbing his sore throat.

"Actually, I do," he muttered.

-

_He felt like he'd been sitting here for ages. His legs felt heavy and useless, like dead things that hadn't been moved in a very long time – he considered drawing them close just to see if he still could, but in the end he didn't bother. There was nowhere to go._

_The sun was warmer than he could remember it ever having been. It paralyzed him. Closing his eyes, he leaned back, so his face was in the shadow of the tree he was sitting under. He felt sleepy, and found himself unable to care that the day was wasting away without him. Certainly there was somewhere else he had to be. It wasn't important enough to think about. He knew he had been here all day but he couldn't remember coming, nor did he try._

_There were footsteps. He squinted in the bright light and saw the silhouette of his best friend. That was strange, because he couldn't sense him, __and because he had the distinct feeling he had no business being here._

_You need to come with me, his best friend told him. You're already far too late._

_And you are too early. He looked up into the sun, and the heat rose when the second sun climbed over the distant mountains, far too quickly to be real. It seemed to be burning the air he tried to breathe before he could get it into his lungs and nail his limbs to the earth._

_It seems I'm not going anywhere, he sighed._

_His best friend sighed as well, resigned. You will have to, he told him. There's not much time left._

_The sky behind his best friend was blazing, and the ground was blazing too. He stared into the blinding light, and together they watched the wall of fire racing across the dry plains toward them._

-

Waking up from a dream that left him drenched in sweat and trembling, the Doctor had one second to register the darkness surrounding him and the pain in his head before it got crippling.

He was vaguely aware that he was screaming.

-

Three days had gone by before the Master had found the Doctor capable of staying alive on his own. Another two days he had remained unconscious. Once he was better, the Master seemed to lose any interest in him, which suited Jack just fine. He liked sitting by the Doctor's bedside pretending he had him for himself.

He would have liked it even better had the Doctor been awake and well. A lot better.

He only ever left his friend for short periods of time, always hoping not to run into the Master. The psychopath probably couldn't imagine how much restraint it had cost Jack not to kill him. He would have broken his neck and plucked out his eyes, and not necessarily in that order. For the Doctor, for the people of Earth in a timeline erased from existence, for all he had done to Jack in that time. For his team. For Martha's family, but mostly for himself.

The Master deserved to die for so many reasons, and it was only for the Doctor that Jack let him live.

Neither of them was there when the Doctor woke up. Jack was on his way back through the corridors when he heard his voice, gradually getting louder as he got closer to the infirmary, and so he didn't know how long the Doctor had been screaming.

After rushing the rest of the way as if his life depended on it, Jack found his friend trashing on the bed, his head thrown back, one hand fisted in his hair, the other grabbing blindly for the wall, the head of the bed, anything he could reach. His face was white, his eyes screwed shut, and even though the Doctor had woken up screaming from nightmares far too often since Jack had come here, he knew instinctively that these were screams of pain rather than terror.

The human grabbed his hands, tried to keep him still and then, somehow, the Master was there, injecting something into his arm that was either a narcotic or a very strong painkiller. The kind of medication Jack never dared giving the Doctor for fear of accidentally killing him. He just didn't know enough about his metabolism. For once he was glad the Master was there.

After what seemed like a year but had probably been about a minute, the Doctor stopped screaming. By then he had gone hoarse, and his quiet whimpers were toneless. He breathed so hard it sounded like sobbing, almost.

Jack was still standing beside him, refusing to make room for the Master. He gently took the Doctor's face, turned it in his direction. The other's eyes fluttered open, causing tears to run down his face.

"Doctor," Jack said, as calmly as possibly. "Can you tell me what's wrong? Where does it hurt?"

The Doctor didn't answer. His pupils were moving restlessly, never stopping to focus on Jack.

"Doctor," Jack said again, a little louder. "Look at me. Can you hear me?" He stroked his friend's face, at the same time keeping him from turning his head away. "Hey, Doc. Are you okay?"

Blinking again, the Doctor stopped his aimless movements and seemed to get back to reality. His eyes remained unfocused, however, even though he was finally looking his way. "Jack," he whispered. Looking in Jack's direction but not _at_ him, as if he wasn't really there. As if the Doctor didn't see him.

As if…

"Oh, no." The words were spoken involuntarily, but sincere and steady, making a statement of what Jack declared the truth. "No," he said again, and shook his head. The Time Lord's eyes didn't follow the movement. "Doctor…"

He was shoved aside roughly as the Master, took his place, immediately placing his hands on the Doctor's face as if he still could get into his head the way he had been able to as a proper Time Lord. The gesture soon changed as he ran his fingers through the Doctor's hair, brushing it out of his face. It looked, somehow, clinical rather than tender. Even now the bastard still could act like he didn't care.

Then the Master shifted his weight and Jack couldn't see the Doctor's face anymore. But he saw his hand, as it reached up, feeling for the face of the man leaning over him. Taking a step back, he still refused to believe it.

"You don't see me," the Master stated. He sounded like he hadn't yet made up his mind whether it would be more appropriate to be shocked, or amazed.

"I don't see anything." Jack had to strain to make out the Doctor's cracked voice. "There's not even darkness. There's just… nothing." He took a deep, shaking breath that ended in a whimper. "It's like my brain refuses to take notice."

The Master took a deep breath himself, and Jack could derive the truth from it: the Master was just as helpless as he was; he hadn't seen this coming. He had no idea where this came from or what to do about it.

"You're still in pain," Jack heard him murmur.

"My head," the Doctor confirmed. "It's killing me." And Jack feared that that might just be the truth.

And then the Master surprised him, utterly, by cupping the Doctor's thin face in his hands and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You'll be fine," he promised, and took hold of the other man's hand, holding it firmly until gradually, the Doctor's hectic breathing slowed down, and he faded off to sleep, pulled down by heavy analgesics and the pain they couldn't quite defeat.

The Master remained by his side for another minute, utterly still, the other's hand still in both of his, and Jack was overcome by a sudden feeling of déjà-vu, like he had seen this somewhere before, a long time ago.

The impression didn't linger, but was effectively destroyed when the Master finally turned around and without warning slammed his fist into Jack's face, sending him down.

-

The Master had assumed that the new negative development concerning the Doctor's health had been caused by his latest exploit, draining the last reserves of strength he needed to stay alive to go wandering about, and blamed Jack for it. Jack had assumed the same, and blamed the Master. Eventually it turned out that they were both wrong.

"It would have happened anyway," the Doctor said, sounding strangely flat as he sat on the examination table in the infirmary one day later. He looked a mess: colourless, ruffled, emaciated and tired. "I'm not even sure the process was sped up significantly by what I did. I could feel it building for weeks, not that I had known what it was." He leaned forward, joining his hands behind his head and hiding his face in his knees like a frightened child. "It's getting worse."

"There's nothing on the scan," the Master told him, nearly turning the screen to show the Doctor, before he remembered the futility of that. "According to this thing, your brain is perfectly fine."

"There's nothing wrong with my brain," the Doctor said, still curled up. "It's what you did to me. What I got from Jack. It's completely incompatible with what I am."

"How would you know that?"

"I can feel it."

"That's ridiculous."

"Yeah? Give me a better explanation."

There was no point in not facing him, but the Master turned his head anyway, looked into every corner of the room as if it might offer another answer. It didn't. It didn't even offer distraction, as Jack wasn't here. Even he had accepted that sometimes his presence just wasn't helping, and that it would be better to leave this to the one who knew about Time Lord biology.

"It was a bad idea from the beginning."

The Master looked at the Doctor again and found the Doctor looking at him. The illusion worked, if he didn't look too closely. The large, expressive eyes of this lifetime had fascinated the Master even when he had still been Professor Yana, an aging fool stuck in a collapsing universe. Even now they transcribed everything the Doctor was thinking and feeling into a message for the world to read. Tools to look in, but not out.

If there was no cause for the Doctor's blindness, then there was no way of curing it. And then he would never look at the Master again. It just wasn't acceptable.

"This is not the first sense to disappear," the Doctor told him. He seemed calm, but his eyes gave away another message. "I didn't even notice. Don't do that."

The Master stopped in his noiseless movement around the table during which the Doctor's sightless gaze had never left him. He shrugged, and crossed the rest of the distance between them in two steps. "What do you mean, not the first?"

The Doctor turned his face away and closed his eyes. He opened them again a second later, shaking his head as if he wanted to shake off a particularly nasty sensation. He wrapped his hands around his own shoulders, hugging himself.

"I can't feel anything but myself anymore. It drowns out all else." He shivered. The Master knew what he meant but felt little sympathy. It seemed just fair; in this mortal body he was reduced to the basic set of senses. No telepathy for him, none for the Doctor. Perhaps the Time Lords of old had been right and there really _was_ balance in the universe.

He remembered how hard it had been for him to get used to the silence, though, the numbness where there should have been something else. And other than the Doctor, he had not been battered by the sensations of his own wrongness.

"It's swallowing me up," the Doctor whispered, pathetically, more to himself than the Master. He faced the other again when he said, "You got it inside me. Get it out!"

"It's what keeps you alive!"

"It's taking me apart." A nearly skeletal hand wrapped around the Master's arm. "Please!" A plea, spoken like a command.

"Never." The Master grabbed the back of the Doctor's head and pulled him close for a hard kiss. He forced this tongue between the other's lips, the grip in his hair strong enough to hurt. "Never," he said again, after pulling back. The very idea was outrageous. The Master was angry again, full of an energy that troubled him and served no purpose. And then the Master surprised himself when he pulled the trembling Doctor into an embrace and promised that he would fix him, somehow.

- tbc

February 8, 2009


	8. Chapter 8

The Doctor's hands were trembling.

They often were, these days. By now he could hardly recall when they hadn't, but today the trembling was getting worse along with the pain in his head; a dull, insistent throbbing that increased in intensity until it wasn't throbbing anymore but a constant, ongoing pain without highs and lows.

As long as he didn't move his head too quickly, in which case the pain would increase and not lessen again. As he carefully felt his way along the kitchen, the Doctor knew that it was only a matter of time before it would knock him out cold and he'd end up sprawled in an undignified heap on the floor if he didn't make it back to bed in time.

He was sick of being in bed, but already in too much pain to try and keep being out of it for much longer.

His fingers found the kettle and he felt the heat it emitted. That was unexpected, because Jack and the Master weren't around. He knew this for certain, and would have known even if he would not have been able to hear them breathe in the total stillness were they here. The Master would long since have made some sarcastic and potentially hurtful comment about his state to demonstrate how much he didn't care, and Jack would have been fussing over him, trying so damn hard to be helpful.

The Doctor was glad he hadn't run into either of them and silently thanked the TARDIS for helping him with the tea.

His shaking hands spilled hot water over his skin. The curse that followed was not an impulse but came a split second too late, a convenient excuse to say something, make noise. The silence around him was complete and he needed to hear something to know that he still could.

The Doctor knew what would happen once his headache had passed its excoriating peak. More hot liquid splashed over his fingers and for a moment he feared that his legs would give out. He realised that he was hyperventilating and cursed himself for his weakness.

He flopped into the chair too hard, causing the pain in his head to go up further. Doing his best to ignore it, the Doctor felt around for the sugar, knowing that his eyes were wide open, as if he could make out anything if only he tried hard enough.

The nothingness he saw was far worse than mere darkness could ever be. The Doctor wasn't even sure if he was truly blind, or if his ability to see, just like his telepathic senses, had simply been swallowed by this alien vortex that was eating him from the inside. It made no difference in the end. There was nothing for his brain to work with – his senses reached out and found nothing, and it made him feel sick and dizzy all the time. Maybe he would go insane before the last of his senses was lost, he thought, and realised that the idea didn't scare him.

He was falling apart, and nothing could stop it without killing him. At some point death had become the best possible outcome.

Jack would never accept that. The Master might, but he wouldn't ever let him go. There was no point in arguing. All the Doctor could do was drink his tea and wonder which of his senses would be gone by the time he awoke from the blackness that was about to overcome him.

-

The Master found the Doctor in the corridor, not far from his room. The other Time Lord was lying curled up on the floor, clutching his head between cramped, claw-like fingers, and _whimpering_. For a minute, the Master just sat beside him, stroking his hair and feeling oddly helpless. Eventually, the whimpering stopped, as did the violent shaking, and the Doctor fell still. Gathering him in his arms, the Master wondered if it was just his imagination that the Doctor was becoming thinner by the day – he felt nearly insubstantial now, and brittle like a frozen leaf.

The way to his bedroom was shorter than it should have been. Sometimes the Master would like to know just how many metres exactly the TARDIS had spared them altogether since the Doctor had become ill.

After placing the pale man on the bed, the Master remained sitting beside him for a while, staring at nothing. The hollow ache of helplessness in his stomach had not lessened. The Doctor wasn't dying, but he was fading away right in front of him none the less and it made little difference. Once, the Master had thought that he would be happy if he could just sit down and watch his favourite enemy suffer for all eternity, but he had been wrong. _This_ was wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was losing the Doctor one way or another, and it was something he couldn't allow, ever.

The cosmos was vast, and he had all of time and space to choose from. There had to be _some _way to stop this, before there was nothing left of the Doctor but a broken shell.

But even if he didn't find a solution in time… as long as the Doctor was still alive there was a chance that some day the Master would be able to heal him completely, no matter how long it would take. There was a cold comfort in the realization that it would give the Master something to live for, something to keep him going.

The Doctor probably wouldn't appreciate it as much. Still, once the thought had been examined, the Master's heart was beating a little calmer, the knot in his stomach lessened. He wouldn't lose his reason for living – it would merely shift a little.

Still, the feeling of dread that came with seeing the Doctor like this and knowing it would get worse didn't disappear completely. Eventually, the Master dealt with it by walking away.

-

Waking to darkness would have been an improvement. The Doctor lay perfectly still, only vaguely aware that his most recent nightmare was over and he was once again awake. For a while he tried to sink back into the dream, not ready to deal with reality as it was.

He wasn't feeling absolutely terrible, which made waking up a more pleasant experience than he had anticipated. The stabbing pain in his head he had expected wasn't there, and only after a few minutes he remembered the agony he had indeed woken up to, hours before. Someone had sent him back to painless oblivion with a nearly lethal dose of painkillers, and for that the Doctor would be eternally grateful.

(Maybe he would have been even more grateful had they given him just that little bit more. He tried not to think like that.)

Even blind and unable to sense anything but the wrongness that was him, the Doctor could tell that he was alone. He didn't move, was barely even breathing as he tried to decide if he should test all his senses to see which one was missing, or should simply go on until it hit him the moment he needed an ability he no longer had.

The TARDIS was humming softly around him, perhaps to tell him his ears were still working. It was a relief, even though the Doctor would have traded this sense for his telepathy without a second's thought.

He smelled the light flowery scent of his pillow. Another relief, but it wouldn't settle. Something was missing, and he already felt it, though he could not put his finger on it. He had always taken his senses for granted so much that he never really noticed them while they were working.

It took him far too long to realise that he couldn't tell if they were in flight anymore. The subconscious connection any Time Lord had to the vortex was gone. When the Doctor tried to reach for it, he only met the mist of wrongness all his missing senses got lost in.

As whimper escaped his throat when he curled into a ball and hid his head between his arms. He didn't understand how the Master could stand this, trapped in a mortal, limited body as he was. This was hell. The Doctor felt cut off from everything and very, very alone.

And he couldn't even tell how long he had left before this emptiness was all he could feel.

After all he had done, an end like this wasn't just pathetic, it was unacceptable. The thought came with a sudden rush of anger at his fate, at the Master and Jack and the entire cosmos, but the anger was taking him nowhere. There was nothing he could do, nothing to fight against, and in the end the fury turned to panic. A mindless panic that made him jump into the emptiness inside him, further and further, reaching for the vortex he knew had to be there, somewhere

After seconds the wrong emptiness was all he could feel. The Doctor didn't even register the nausea that washed over him and was only vaguely aware of the increasing pain in his head. He was lost, but he wouldn't turn back. All he could do was go on, until he reached something, or got lost forever.

After a while he thought he sensed the familiar stream of the vortex, just out of reach, but it escaped him whenever he tried to gain hold of it. So he tried again. And again. Everything else cheased to matter.

Until with a last, desperate effort he threw himself into the horror that surrounded him and in a flash of blinding pain he became part of the universe once more.

-

Half an hour later the Doctor was lying on the floor, his hands pressed to his eyes, and laughed through the tears streaming down his cheeks. The piercing pain in his head made it almost impossible for him to breathe, but he felt a little bit more whole again, and that was all that mattered. All was not lost. He could _do something_, work against the slow decay of his mind, even if it was no permanent solution. Already he felt his hold slipping, and with every second he held on to this sense humans couldn't even imagine, the pain got worse. But it was so much better than having lost it for good. He now knew that he could get it back for a while, if he tried really hard, and while he still felt no hope and no optimism, he was a lot less desperate than he had been in a long time.

He was still laughing breathlessly when Jack found him five minutes later.

-

Jack had lost any sense of how long he'd been with the two Time Lords now. In terms of being either freaked out, worried as hell or feeling completely miserable it was, in any case, too long.

He had the distinct feeling that he had very nearly killed the Doctor earlier today when he had found him in his bed, screaming in agony. The Master had been nowhere to be seen and in the end Jack had decided to take the risk of giving him a strong dose of what he hoped was an analgesic, unable to bear it any longer.

Hours later he had returned to check on his friend to find him half-delirious on the floor, either laughing or crying or both – Jack hadn't been able to say for sure, but he really couldn't see what was so bloody funny. _He_ didn't feel like laughing. At all.

The Doctor had passed out before Jack had been able to put him back to bed, and for once the human could not bring himself to linger by his side. He was sick of seeing him like this and knowing he would probably not get better, ever. It was breaking his heart.

Running aimlessly through the ship was one way to work out the restless energy that filled him, but it wasn't really going anywhere.

If he didn't want the Doctor to suffer like this, he decided, he had to do something about it. Just sitting around and feeling miserable wasn't helping anyone.

His steps eventually led him to one of the libraries. It wasn't a bad place to start his research, and so he had a look at some shelves. And some more shelves. And even more. And his frustration grew.

Jack had expected the TARDIS would help him. She usually did that: if he was looking for texts on a special subject, she'd put all books of interest where he would first look for them. But this time there was nothing but random books followed by more random books: novels, scientific journals, historical scripts from at least a hundred different worlds, ordered by no system Jack could recognize. There wasn't even the odd book about Time Lord physiology. Either the TARDIS was having a bad day, or this was her way of telling him that there was nothing to be found.

Or maybe she didn't want to help him. Despite the Doctor's best efforts to act optimistic in Jack's presence whenever he was fine enough to act at all, it was hard to miss that he had all but given up. Perhaps this got transmitted to the TARDIS so now she saw no reason to do anything. Jack couldn't really believe this, though. In her own limited way the ship was far too protective of her pilot to let anything happen to him if she could prevent it, whether he wanted that or not. The fact that she would have helped him if only she could did nothing to make Jack feel hopeful.

If things continued to look this bleak, Jack might even consider asking the Master for help. But he hadn't quite reached that point yet. Right now he was still stuck in the I'd Rather Cut Off My Own Leg And Eat It Than Talk To Him phase.

Fortunately the Master was nowhere to be seen when Jack left the library and wandered back to his room. The ship was vast, after all, and the risk of running into someone by accident was never very high. On top of that, Jack suspected the TARDIS was arranging her corridors on purpose so that the one the Master was in was always far away from the one Jack was walking down.

He'd almost gotten used to the eerie silence that filled the ship most of the time now.

In his room, Jack flopped onto his bed and, for lack of anything better to do, buried his face in the pillow and stared at a very limited nothing. He had no intention to sleep; what he was doing was merely an alternative to staring at the ceiling.

After a while he noticed that he hadn't had any useful thought for quite a while, and he turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling after all. It didn't help his brain at all. The only realization sinking into the mattress gave him was that he hadn't slept properly for a few days. Between worrying for the Doctor, hating the Master and despising himself for actions he couldn't even remember, mundane things like that were mostly forgotten.

He also realised that he could do with some food. The decision to get up and eat something followed him into his dreams as he slipped into an uneasy sleep.

He woke to a knock on the door. His dream took the noise and incorporated it into the confusing story of a shopping mall in the Lost City of Chicago in the thirty-forth century it had come up with. Before the blue kangaroos could stamp him into the random puddle of mud he appeared to be standing in, however, Jack's brain registered the sound of a door opening and he blinked sleepily. After a second he realised that this was weird, as he had the habit of jumping awake (and possibly behind the furniture for cover) if he was woken by the sound of someone entering the room.

Maybe it was the preceding knocking that had convinced his subconscious that there was no danger here. By the time Jack thought that of the two other people inside the TARDIS, the Master was more likely to run around and come visit him, he was already staring at the Doctor, struggling to find any proof for his really being awake now.

The Doctor was looking at him, pale but with a thin smile gracing his lips.

The Doctor was _looking at him_.

Jack continued blinking at him, trying to figure out if he was still dreaming, and if not, how much of what he thought had happed in the last few days was actually true.

"You… can see me," he said, making it half a question and hoping he didn't sound too stupid. If, his sleep addled brain told him, he really had dreamed up a good portion of his memories, this had the potential to be embarrassing.

"Yes." The Doctor's smile widened, enough to convince Jack that this was as much of a surprise to him as it was to the human. "Yes, I can see you, Jack." He spoke the words as if he couldn't quite believe it himself.

Then Jack was on his feet, holding the Time Lord's shoulders, almost shaking him. "But how is it possible? Did you find a way to reverse it? This is fantastic!" He felt the grin forming on his face and suspected that he looked a lot like a little boy in a candy shop. The Doctor's answering smile was a little less enthusiastic, though; almost awkward.

"It's not permanent," he told Jack, as if it was something he was ashamed of. "I can keep it up for a while, though, and that's something at least." His smile grew wider again and he looked like this was indeed the best thing ever, while Jack felt some of his joy fade.

"How long?" he asked. "How do you do it?"

"About half an hour, and I wouldn't be able to explain. I just do."

"Does it hurt?" Jack wanted to know, because he felt his friend tremble, and he was pale, his eyes red rimmed, and his breathing uneasy.

"A little," the Doctor admitted. "Nothing I couldn't bear. It's so much more than I ever…" He stopped, momentarily overwhelmed. "I didn't think I'd ever…"

"Yes," said Jack. He hadn't thought that either. Before he could think about what he was doing, he had pulled the Doctor into a tight embrace. One moment later he let him go again, and took a step back. "Sorry," he mumbled, not able to forget the horror and self-hate he had felt when the Master had shown him what he had done to the Doctor in the time he couldn't remember. Even though he hadn't been himself then, even though the Doctor had forgiven him, Jack couldn't yet forgive himself, and a part of him was unable to believe that the Doctor really had either. Certainly he wouldn't like Jack touching him. Jack didn't want to inflict that on him on top of everything he already had to bear.

He looked up when a hand touched his arm. The Doctor was looking at him through his large, dark, _seeing _eyes, and the smile was gone from his face.

"It's good to see you, Jack," he said, before pulling his friend into a hug.

All Jack could do was hug him back.

-

The Doctor had to give up his vision the moment he'd more or less fled from Jack's room. It was all he could do to not collapse in front of his friend. By the time he let go, he could hardly stand. Even if he had still been able to see, the pain in his head would have been blinding.

He made it back to his own room, feeling sick and weak, too exhausted to be frustrated as he fell face down onto his bed. He slept.

When he woke up, the Doctor mainly felt numb. The excitement that had come with discovering that he could restore his lost senses for a short time was gone and he was aware again that in the end it would only get worse. He couldn't tell how long he had before the next part of him was lost, but he know that it would happen, again and again, and even if he could temporarily get back one or the other, he would never be whole again.

The despair that usually accompanied the thought didn't come either. The Doctor stayed in bed, his eyes closed, missing the vivid images of his dreams. He felt the softness of the pillow beneath his face and didn't wonder how much time he had left before that, too, was lost.

Fingers closed around his hand, startling him. The Doctor opened his eyes wide, by force of habit, and became aware that he had been about to drift off to sleep again. Rolling onto his back he reached out until he felt the smooth fabric of a shirt under his palm. Now he could hear the breathing he had missed before: a little deeper than Jack, and the muscles of the arm he was touching were different too. He felt them move, and then a rough hand touched his cheek. The Doctor relished the feeling, committing it to memory for the time when his mind was the only place he could still live in.

He melted into the Master's touch, reached up to feel the rough beard, then the lips that parted to lick his fingers. A moment later his hand was buried in thick hair, and he smelled the unique smell of someone neither human nor Time Lord as the Master leaned in and kissed him. It was almost tender.

But not quite. This, alone, was so predictable it made the Doctor smile.

-

As the Doctor arched against him, the Master became aware that this was the first time in ages that his old friend willingly let himself be taken. He made a low, breathless sound deep in his throat as the Master moved inside him, and the Master, almost ironically, was more careful with him than he had been ever before.

He hadn't come the Doctor's room with this in mind, but them moment the Doctor had reached for him, he had not seen any reason not to. Too long had he restrained himself, because the Doctor was so very fragile, but now he sank into him, moved against him, and thought _Yes_.

It was too much for the weak Doctor to handle. He passed out in the Master's arms, and the Master kept holding him, his arms wrapped around his middle from behind. The Doctor seemed peaceful, almost content, and for a few precious moments the Master simply watched him sleep. One hand gave up its possessive hold to run up and down his side. It had been too long since the Master last was able to feel the smooth skin under his palms, and he could hardly remember the last time the Doctor hadn't despised him for it.

For a brief moment, the Master allowed himself to miss what they had shared long, long ago, before their ways had parted and the way they had lived their lives had turned both of them into something else, alien and incompatible.

The moment passed, as it always did, but something lingered. The Master kissed the Doctor's shoulder before pulling him close again, and, burying his face in the other's hair to inhale his scent, he closed his eyes, to join him in his slumber.

- tbc

March 2, 2009


	9. Chapter 9

There was only one thing Jack and the Master agreed on: that the Doctor was far too fragile still to be allowed to leave the TARDIS. The Doctor, on the other hand, had decided that he was far too frustrated to stay inside doing nothing any longer. In time he would only become more and more helpless, and if he didn't go outside now, he would never do it.

The Master and Jack argued that the Doctor got in trouble wherever he went and would only end up getting himself killed. The Doctor argued that the TARDIS knew of his state and would not drop them into the middle of a crisis. Jack and the Master weren't convinced. The Doctor argued that it was his ship and that he would decide if it landed anywhere or not.

The Master would have mercilessly tied him to the bed, which was why the Doctor cunningly didn't warn him before he blindly wandered into the console room and made the TARDIS land wherever she felt was a good place to be at the moment.

The smell of the sea greeted him when he pushed open the doors, and under his feet he felt rough plants, like long grass hard and pointy enough to poke into the skin of his legs through the thin fabric of his trousers.

He had never before noticed this clearly how every planet had its own unique scent. One deep breath was enough to tell the blind Time Lord that he was on Earth.

It didn't smell like Cardiff though, which was probably a good thing – Jack would only have gotten annoyed if he had reason to think the Doctor wanted to deposit him at home.

Cool wind ruffled the Doctor's hair and caressed his face and neck. He had missed this. He hadn't realised how much.

There were no sounds caused by humans to be heard. Just the wind and the cry of birds. The area felt deserted. All the traces of pollution the humans of the twenty-first century were so used to they never even noticed them were missing from the air. The Doctor supposed that they had landed on pre-industrial age Earth.

"Looks like Denmark to me," Jack's voice sounded behind him. "Jutland, before the tourists came. Looks pretty deserted."

"That's nice," the Doctor replied, a little sourly. "I suppose I have your permission to go for a walk then?" Without waiting for an answer, he started walking towards the sea, hoping he wouldn't find it at the bottom of a cliff.

Didn't sound like waves crashing against a cliff, though. Sounded like waves more or less gently rolling up the shore. Judging from their strength and the strong smell of salt, he guessed that this was the North rather than the East Sea.

He could make out footsteps behind him and sped up his own steps. Two metres later he was lying on the steadily rising ground after stumbling over something in the marram grass. Rather inelegantly so, he feared. The Doctor made an effort to get up before Jack could reach him.

"Careful," Jack called. "It goes down in a few metres."

The Doctor slowed down his steps, but supposed that there would have been more alarm in Jack's voice if he was about to fall to his death. So this was Other Side Of Dune Down, not Cliff Down.

He still stumbled a few more times over things he couldn't see, and while he didn't fall again, he wondered if it wouldn't be easier if he just lay down and rolled to the feet of the dune.

Would be more fun, too.

But this was another of the things he'd better not do when he couldn't see and was in an area he wasn't familiar with. It did nothing to improve his mood, although he was quite determined not to be miserable today.

The Doctor closed his eyes. A moment of concentration and a rush of nausea inducting disorientation later he opened them again, and saw the broad, clean shore at the foot of the dune, and the sea. Birds were flying above him, in front of bright grey sky. He swallowed his feelings and let go of his vision after less than a minute. His determination not to be miserable might waver if the rising pain made it impossible for him to think.

Jack said nothing, but the Doctor sensed him nearby anyway, ready to save him should be face any terrible danger, like a hole in the sand, or an overly enthusiastic seal. The Doctor grimaced, and before Jack had a chance to stop him threw himself to the ground to roll all the way down to the shore.

-

Jack could see that the Doctor wanted to be on his own for the moment, away from everyone who treated him like a helpless child that needed to be watched over instead of a hero who had saved the universe more often than any of them could count. He even was aware that even in his current state – blind, weak and probably in pain – the Time Lord could one of the most dangerous being the universe had ever produced, if he put his mind to it. More than once in his life he had been very, very relieved that the Doctor had made the decision to fight for the cosmos, and not against it.

Unfortunately the cosmos obviously had decided to fight against _him_ – and no matter how much Jack knew that his concern was probably unnecessary, he winced every time he saw his friend stumble. He couldn't help it: he loved the Doctor and wanted to protect him. On the other hand he knew that he would be pretty pissed himself if their roles were reversed and everyone would fuss over him as if he might get killed by a gush of wind. So he stayed back a little, trying to find a balance between giving the Doctor some space and being close enough to help him should the need occur, yet suspecting that he failed spectacularly.

He hadn't been happy to see the Doctor throw himself off the dune. What a silly thing to do, and stupid and careless, and most of all terribly childish!

If Jack hadn't felt like it was his job to be the responsible one here, he would have done exactly the same.

The Doctor was laughing when he came to a stop in the sand of the beach, and Jack swallowed the lecture he'd been planning to give once he caught up with his friend. The Time Lord had little enough fun these days, after all. In the end he stayed up on the dune, sitting on the sandy ground and watching the Doctor as he strolled toward the water. Eventually the Time Lord took off his shoes and left them in the sand as he let the waves bury his feet in the ground.

From the distance he looked relaxed, content and normal, except that his movements were lacking the barely contained energy Jack had grown accustomed to. It prevented him from forgetting for even one moment that the Doctor was very much not okay.

It hurt more than he would have been able (or willing) to express to know that maybe he would never again be as he had been before. The Master and him, they had saved the Doctor's life, but they hadn't really healed him, and their solution for the problem had turned out to only make matters worse. The Doctor alive was the only positive outcome of their actions, and while he had never told Jack so, the human suspected that the Time Lord would have preferred if they had simply let him go.

He had, after all, been ready to die ever since Jack had first met him.

So it was with a vague feeling of dread that Jack watched the Doctor wander along the shoreline, his feet in the no doubt pretty cold water. There wasn't anything to do here, but there was just as little to do inside the TARDIS, and despite his objections Jack was grateful for the change in scenery. He had begun to feel rather claustrophobic these last few days.

Only after a few minutes did Jack notice the Master who was standing about fifty metres away, pointedly ignoring him. It was the first time Jack had seen him in days, and the old hatred was back in an instant, not at all lessened by the new body the man was wearing – though a part of Jack still expected to see the face of Harold Saxon whenever he looked at him.

At the moment the Master was looking at the Doctor with a stony face and narrowed eyes, his body tense, as if he was expecting the Doctor to wander off into the sea any second. When Jack looked back at the tall, thin figure at the water's edge, the Doctor had turned his face in their direction, a frown gracing his features. Jack wondered if he was doing his little trick to get back his ability to see, or if he was just guessing that they were there. He supposed that they were kind of predictable in their behaviour.

The second option was more likely. As Jack understood what the Doctor had refused to explain in depth, forcing his senses to work caused the Doctor a severe headache that didn't lessen even when he stopped.

After a moment, the Doctor lifted two fingers in their general direction and walked on, further and further down the beach.

-

It was probably pride that had made the Doctor walk this far, because it surely had not been a well thought through decision. He felt the sands beneath his feet and the water playing around his ankles, and it felt wonderful, but he also felt the fatigue in his limps and the pain his head that steadily grew worse even though he did nothing to deserve it, and he'd felt the sharp edge of a large, broken seashell that had cut the sole of his foot. What he didn't feel was the TARDIS: her constant, reassuring presence at the back of his mind had been gone when he'd first woken up, and he'd felt abandoned and lost without it; now that he had left her more than ever before. Since the Doctor knew the telepathic bond wasn't entirely gone but only drowned out on his end, he assumed that his ship could still feel _him_ like it had ever before. She still was helpful, gave him the shortest way to wherever he wanted to go, adjusted the temperature to meet his needs, and of course he wouldn't want her to feel like he did, but it still seemed unfair, somehow.

He grimaced at his own pettiness, just before he walked up the shore a bit, where walking was harder because the sand was dry and lose. Self-consciously aware that Jack and the Master were still watching him – and _how_ he knew that he would not have been able to tell – he flopped down into the sand, trying to make it look like he just felt like sitting down and drawing figures into the sand with his fingers, as opposed to, say, sitting down because he had no breath left and the thought of the way back was utterly depressing.

It was their fault, really. If Jack and the Master had no been watching, the Doctor would not have felt the need to keep walking, unwilling to show any weakness. Yet, it had also been the unwillingness to let go of this little bit of freedom that had forced him to keep moving.

And the fact that he simply enjoyed it, and had kind of forgotten that he'd have to walk all the way back again.

His head was aching rather more than he liked. The Doctor did his best not to notice that this was the kind of ache that would result in the loss of another sense. If he was a human he would be running out of them pretty quickly. But even so…

The Doctor didn't think about that. The Doctor listened to the crashing of the waves and wondered if the others would be quick enough to stop him if he decided to get up and walk into the water until he lost the ground under his feet.

He was cold, although it didn't bother him. With a deep breath the Doctor lay on his back and closed eyes he had hardly been aware had been open. Funny how sand that slipped away with every step could be so hard and unrelenting when lain upon.

A gap in the clouds must have opened, because the Doctor could feel the warmth of the sun on his skin. That was nice. He decided to rest a little under the cover of daydreaming and relaxing, and let the sound of the waves and the wind distract him from the growing pain in his head and in his joints.

It didn't work in the long run. The Doctor's thoughts quickly became confused and incoherent, and when he realised that he was about to pass out, sprawled on the shore, after the Master and Jack had told him was he wasn't fit enough to go for a bloody _walk_, he wasn't even embarrassed. He only wished to feel better. Even the sun was burning him now, while his entire body was shaking in the cold air.

How long he had been lying here he couldn't tell. If he lost his time sense next, he thought distractedly, he probably wouldn't even notice.

Eventually a hand touched his forehead, ran softly through his hair. The touch was gentle, soothing, comforting. The Doctor recognized Jack in the lack of roughness the Master applied to every caress as a mask of indifference betrayed by all his actions. The Doctor didn't see the point, but had given up hoping for anything else long ago.

Jack's hand felt at the same time too hot and too cold, yet the Doctor feared the moment the contact would be gone. He was too weak, though, to reach for it, and too far gone to even consider the possibility. Instead he said Jack's name, or thought he did, but then he couldn't think of anything else to say and fell silent. He felt sick. It was difficult to breathe so he stopped for a while. There were voices, but he didn't pay attention. The words that were spoken, the sound of the waves, were too far away.

-

Walking in lose sand, the Master decided, was annoying. Carrying someone else in his arms while walking on lose sand was even more annoying, but at least he didn't have to carry the Doctor very far.

While Jack's younger self had been with them, the Doctor had done something to his ship, to keep the Master from abusing it for his own evil plans when he wasn't there to stop him. But the manipulations only blocked the TARDIS' functions if the Master was out to do something the Doctor wouldn't approve of. The ship was very willing to make a short trip to where the Doctor had apparently passed out on the beach. That idiot. The words 'I told you so' were on the tip of the Masters tongue, but he swallowed them for a time when the other Time Lord was awake enough to acknowledge them.

He hadn't bothered to wait for Harkness to enter the ship before he took off, and so the human had to walk all the way across the beach to get to the Doctor. If he was quick enough with collecting his fellow Time Lord, the Master had thought, he might be able to take off before the freak got to them and leave him stranded here. The idea was tempting, but Harkness was a surprisingly fast runner on sand, and his way wasn't as long as the Masters would have been, since he had followed the Doctor, up on the dunes, when he felt he was getting too far away from them.

"Poor Doctor," the Master had murmured as he sat down beside the other man and caressed his too warm forehead. "Defeated by a walk." His words were mocking but his touch wasn't.

Jack had reached them just in time to hear the Doctor whisper his name.

An hour later the Master was sitting in one of the living rooms, brooding and angry. The Doctor calling him _Jack _had stuck him painfully in a place he hadn't known existed. And the Master didn't deal well with hurt. It turned to fury and the urge to lash out at whoever had caused it.

Technically that had been the Doctor. But the Doctor didn't present himself as a useful victim at the moment, and in the end this slip of the hardly conscious man had only refuelled the resentment the Master had held for Jack all along.

He wanted him gone, more than ever before. It had been fun to play with him, at times, and that had made his presence somewhat bearable, but if the Doctor had grown so used to having him around that he would call his name over the Master's it was time for him to disappear.

And the Master wouldn't mind if it was for good. Not at all.

So far, the Master had refrained from taking any permanent measures against the freak. He'd hurt him in any way he could, but had kept himself from committing murder because he didn't want to deal with the Doctor in the aftermath. Now, however, he had reached the point where this wouldn't hold him back any more. Avoiding to make the Doctor angry had never been a deciding factor for him. If he hadn't been so worried about the Doctor's fragile state he might have done so long before – and if he hadn't thought that he might need Jack again, in case the life force they had given the Doctor hadn't been enough. But by now it was desperately obvious that any life force taken from Jack was hardly the ideal solution and would only make things worse. If that was still possible.

So it was time for the Master to find out if, even after having so much of his unnatural energy taken from him, the human was still immortal.

-

Jack was feeling slightly annoyed, and that feeling was directed at the Doctor. He had been feeling well, and now he was ill again, and all that just because he'd had to go for a stupid walk. Jack would have liked to spend another normal day with him – they were rare enough.

The Doctor had been burning with fever when the Master had carried him inside, something Jack was by now so used to he knew how much of which medication to give his friend to tread it. A useful knowledge in this case, as the Master had just dumped the Doctor on the bed and stalked off like an insulted cat. Jack suspected that it had something to do with the Doctor muttering his name when the Master had been stroking his hair. The memory made him smirk. He couldn't say that it didn't please him. At the same time, however, it made him feel uneasy, because the look the Master had thrown him had promised more than another few days of avoidance and hurtful remarks. It would be a mistake to forget just how _dangerous_ this man was.

Currently the Doctor was lying in his bed, caught once again in feverish dreams. He had woken up screaming in pain an hour ago, and by now Jack knew what that meant. The Master had shown up as Jack had prepared to send him back to sleep, but he hadn't done anything to help, only standing in the doorway to watch the Doctor scream with a stony face. Once Jack had taken care of his friend he had turned and walked away, never speaking a word. All Jack had gotten from him was a cold, hard glare that had made him shiver. At the same time the Master's behaviour had once again made him long to punch his face to a bloody mass. Or alternatively break his neck.

It would break the Doctor, but Jack had always known that the Master deserved to die, and that dealing with his death would still be better for the Doctor than his presence would be in the long run.

Jack sighed. There was an air of defeat to it; he already he knew wouldn't be able to murder the Master in cold blood – the Doctor had taught him as much.

Sometimes he wished the Master would just try to murder him (or the Doctor, or anyone, really) and give him an excuse.

Jack kissed the Doctor's forehead before he left his room. There was a certain feeling of dread when he stepped out into the corridor, caused by the fact that he didn't want to run into the Master. The TARDIS usually kept them apart, but there was no guarantee for it, and Jack felt like walking though the labyrinth of Crete, expecting to run into the Minotaur any moment. And he didn't even have a weapon.

It wasn't the first time Jack felt this way, but it had never been this bad – even though he was aware that the worst that could happen should he meet the Master was probably them passing in silence while throwing glares of hatred at the other.

As it happened, Jack met the Master in the console room, half an hour later. The human had been staring at the symbols flashing over the little screen, as if he could make sense of them if only he watched them long enough. Eventually he came to the conclusion that they were in fact numbers, telling their current position in the vortex.

Alternatively the TARDIS could have described to him a new, improved way of brewing coffee.

The thought made Jack feel something like homesickness. He missed Ianto's coffee. He also missed Ianto, and Gwen, and the hub. (And Tosh and Owen, but he strictly told his feelings not to go there.)

Most of all he missed hunting aliens in Cardiff. Compared to life in the TARDIS at the moment it would be a blessing – and he'd never thought he'd ever see it like that.

Not being in the company of someone he hated and who hated him while watching someone he loved suffer all the time would be nice for a chance. And the Doctor would take him home the moment he asked for it. Jack still wouldn't do it. He felt committed to the Doctor, and leaving him when he was this miserable was not an option.

Eventually the symbols, meaningless as they were to him, got boring. Jack sighed. He wasn't used to being this inactive. Sure, the TARDIS had a gym, a pool, at least three libraries, a cinema if one was needed, a garden so large it was practically a jungle, and probably every gaming console ever invented. Anywhere. But he was used to running around a lot, and helping people and being useful. While he would never forgive himself for leaving the Doctor alone, he knew that he was helping no one here.

When he turned around, the Master was looking at him.

The Master was looking at him with a smile, and careful calculation in his eyes, and the content calmness of a man who had finally, after a long struggle with himself, come to a decision.

Jack's instincts told him to reach for his weapon, and his hands followed those instincts even though his memory told him he wasn't _carrying _a weapon – because the Doctor wouldn't approve, because the temptation to kill the Master would be too great if he did, and because someone had stolen it days ago. Possibly the TARDIS, to keep him from using it, though the Master rather suspected it had been the Master, for the same reasons.

The Master chuckled. And pulled Jack's trusty old gun out of his pocket.

"I'm certain you'll appreciate the irony," he said.

"I hope you have kept in mind that I might, after all, still be immortal," Jack replied, rage welling up inside him, though he managed to control it. The prospect of dying didn't shock him – perhaps he'd simply done it too often before – but the fact that this smug bastard would kill him (again) was hard to accept. And the Doctor… "Because if I am, killing you will be the first thing I'll do after I come back."

The Master smiled nastily. "You know what's even more ironic? The TARDIS used to have a security setting that prevented firearms from working inside. But when you destroyed the paradox machine with a firearm, it missed out this one when resetting itself."

Funny enough, the first thing Jack thought of was how strange it was to hear the Master talk about the TARDIS as 'it', when the Doctor had always referred to the ship as 'she'.

"Your fulfilling every cliché of a movie villain here, gloating before the kill like this," he pointed out. From what Jack knew about him, the Master was that kind of man, and Jack desperately looked for a way to use this against him, like any movie hero would. But the Master only laughed (a hard, cold expression of satisfaction, not of humour) and fired.

Jack would never understand where the Doctor came from, all of a sudden.

And then he thought, strangely detached, that he'd better be mortal now, else this would have been completely in vain.

His mind was still numb with terror when the Master cried out and caught the Doctor as he fell to the ground. The Doctor was looking at the man cradling him in his arms, really looking at him, and whispered something, but Jack couldn't understand it. It wasn't his language. It wasn't meant for him.

He couldn't stop staring at the blood soaking the Doctor's shirt.

The Doctor was smiling, but his head fell back when the Master lifted him up, his arms and legs hanging limply, and Jack stood still and watched as the Master ran from the room towards the infirmary, Jack and his murderous intentions toward him forgotten. He stood still until the two Time Lords were out of sight, then his paralysis disappeared and he realised what had just happened.

The infirmary should be right next door, he thought as he ran after them. But it wasn't – there was just a long corridor, without doors, and the Master was running down it as fast as he could with the dead weight in his arms. The sense of déjà-vu that overcame Jack was destroyed when the Master slowed down, and stopped.

When he saw the Master sink to the floor before him, Jack stopped as well, knowing what it meant.

-

They found the Doctor's room in the end, and lay him on the bed. Jack kept staring at the bloodstains on the covers, because it was easier than looking at his friend's face. It wasn't peaceful, as it should have been. It wasn't anything, just pale.

The Master had become a vague existence at the edge of his peripheral vision. If the Time Lord (the last of his kind, oh _God_) decided to kill him after all, right now Jack wouldn't have cared at all.

But the Master seemed to have forgotten his existence altogether. Eventually Jack moved (his joints creaked as if he had sat still for hours, and perhaps he had) and saw the Master sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on the Doctor's white face, and there was nothing to be read in his eyes.

He'd screamed when he'd pressed the Doctor's corpse against him, in the corridor.

The light flickered, and when it stopped was dimmer than before.

"We should go," Jack said, his voice alien to his own ears. He was mildly surprised when the Master nodded ever so slightly, got up and walked over to the door. He was gone from the room by the time Jack took hold of the Doctor's cold hand and breathed a kiss to his knuckles. When he left he didn't look back.

Jack was aware that he hadn't yet realized what had happened and what it meant, for him and the rest of the cosmos. It was waiting for him, the grief, pain and anger, like a flood waiting for the dam to break, but for now he was sheltered by a wall of numbness.

There were no doors in corridor he walked down, just blank walls leading to the exit. The light faded behind him with every step he walked, and when at one point Jack looked over his shoulder, the corridor he had just walked down ended in a wall a few metres behind him.

The console room went dark when Jack was halfway to the door. There was no last holographic message of the Doctor displayed for him, but in the end none was necessary.

The TARDIS shut down in silence, and Jack took the last few steps through the open door, until he found himself standing in front of the Millennium Centre in Cardiff.

A few steps ahead the Master was standing, lost and with nowhere to go.

-

There was a spaceship hidden in one of the larger storage rooms below the Torchwood hub. It had been found four decades ago, abandoned and out of power, and then forgotten about.

With the equipment stored and equally forgotten in the hub now, and the Doctor's sonic screwdriver, it was a matter of hours to get it to work. It took another few hours to get it to the surface while fighting off Gwen and Ianto, who wanted to know where Jack had been and why he had returned only to take off again in a ship they hadn't known even existed. Jack didn't have many words for them, and eventually they accepted that they wouldn't get anything out of him at the moment and left him alone. All he could give them before getting into the little ship along with the Master was that he would not disappear again. This, at least, he could promise.

There was just enough room to get the TARDIS in, and the Master was familiar enough with this kind of spacecraft to fly it. They needed half a day to reach the sun.

The star was but a wall of fire in front of the tinted windows when they pulled the ship into as close an orbit as they dared. It had been a long time since Jack last came this close to Earth's sun. Now, as always, the size and power of it took his breath away.

He'd tried to think of something to say for the final moment, but there was nothing he wanted to share with the Master. In the end they shoved the TARDIS out of the airlock in the same silence that had dominated their journey here, each of them keeping their goodbye to themselves.

The silence between them continued all the way back home to Earth. The Master didn't say a word when Jack turned around just in time to see the large wrench coming towards his head.

It was the last thing he ever saw of the Master. When he woke up, Jack was in the hub, and it was much like after his fight against Abaddon. They hadn't put him in the freezer this time, and Gwen didn't kiss him awake, but she was there, as was Ianto, and they told him that he had been dead for two days.

Apparently the Master had thrown him out of the ship and he had hit the roof of the shopping centre near the hub after falling two hundred metres. He was immortal still, then. Jack still felt too numb to care, but he acknowledged the irony.

The Master had stolen their space ship. Understandably, his team was worried about what he would do with it. Yet, Jack didn't share their concerns. He had seen the look on the Time Lord's face as the TARDIS was swallowed by the bright light of the sun and knew they wouldn't see him again.

Jack, for his part, left his concerned friends behind and spent the rest of the day staring up to the sky, trying to gather strength for a life that would go on.

Somehow.

-

_He feels like he's been sitting here for ages. His legs are heavy and useless, like dead things that haven't been moved in a very long time – he considers drawing them close just to see if he still can, but in the end he doesn't bother. There is nowhere to go._

_The sun is warmer than he can remember it ever having been. It paralyzes him. Closing his eyes, he leans back, so his face is in the shadow of the tree he is sitting under. He feels sleepy, and finds himself unable to care that the day is wasting away without him. But there is somewhere else he has to be. Something he has to do, somewhere he has to go._

_There are footsteps. Squinting in the bright light he sees the silhouette of his best friend. He can sense him, like an echo in an empty room._

_You need to come with me, his best friend tells him. You're already far too late._

_And you are too early. He looks up into the sun, and the heat rises when the second sun climbs over the distant mountains, far too quickly to be real. It seems to be burning the air he tries to breathe before he can get it into his lungs and nail his limbs to the earth._

_But his best friend offers him a hand and with his help he gets to his feet, and the heat doesn't hurt them._

_The sky above them is blazing, and the ground is blazing too. They look into the blinding light, and their hands are still joined as the wall of fire racing across the dry plains reaches them and takes them away._

- end

March 11, 2009


End file.
